


Fire Emblem Reawakening

by Pretzle05



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Action, Action/Adventure, Again, Amnesia AU, Attempt at Humor, Bandits & Outlaws, Camping, Canon-Typical Violence, Chases, Chrom is a Moron, Gen, Headcanon, Mental Breakdown, Mugging, Mystery, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Canon, Post-Grima AU, Reminiscing, Robin Gets Bullied, Robin is a Hobo, Robin's Coat, Robin's past, Swearing, Tea, Tharja's Bloodpressure Rises, Whump, lots of headcanons here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:20:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 48,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23339818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pretzle05/pseuds/Pretzle05
Summary: Robin opened his eyes again as the harsh pounding in his head eased into a dull ache. He seemed to be in a field of sorts, grass as far as the eye could see. He had absolutely no recollection of how he got there, and he felt like he’d just been trampled by a pack of wyverns.*AKA Robin wakes up after Grima is defeated with all of his past memories restored, but all of his memories of the Shepherds gone. This is the story of Robin's reawakening.
Relationships: None of them are very prominent though, Various Pairings
Comments: 74
Kudos: 138





	1. The Remnants of History

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all, this is just an interesting fic that I've been working on based on mine and my brother's headcanons about Robin's past and how he rejoins the Shepherds after he sacrifices himself to kill Grima. I really hope you enjoy it, because I am having a ton of fun writing it! Let me know what you think down in the comments! Thank you so much for reading, and strap in, because it's gon be a looooooooooooong ride!
> 
> Author's note: Robin's coat has an enchantment on it that allows the wearer to change its appearance at will. Robin never used this over the course of the game because he had forgotten about it, so during the game it was in its original form. The coat will get more backstory later.
> 
> Author's note 2: I don't know exactly know how bathing worked back then, but I really didn't feel like describing having to get the scullery maid draw buckets of water just so Robin could have a goddamn bath. In this, there's an enchantment on baths at inns and some wealthy people's homes that magically draws well-water into the bath for you.

Robin had a pounding headache.

That was really all he could think about as he blinked his eyes open, squinting in the harsh mid-day sunlight. He immediately closed them again as another wave of agony assaulted his temples, groaning. He pressed his palms against his eyelids in hopes of alleviating some of the pressure, but it didn’t help much. He managed to push through the pain and dizziness enough to sit up (since when was he laying down?), his fingers digging into the soft earth below him (why was he outside?).

He opened his eyes again as the harsh pounding in his head eased into a dull ache. He seemed to be in a field of sorts, grass as far as the eye could see. He had absolutely no recollection of how he got there, and he felt like he’d just been trampled by a pack of wyverns. His eyes widened and he quickly patted himself down. He was relieved to find that he still had his sword and tome. Though, was it just his imagination or did they look… higher quality than before? He was certain he had only brought a simple bronze sword and thunder tome with him, but then again, his head was still a bit foggy. Maybe he was remembering wrong. He fished out his coinpurse from inside his coat, finding it to be fully intact, though maybe a big fuller than he remembered. Well that ruled out bandits (unless there was a group of thieves going around _giving_ people money, but that seemed unlikely).

He paused as he caught a glimpse of his hand. That was odd. The purple mark on the back of his right hand was gone. According to his mother, he’d had that strange birthmark since he was a baby. Something was definitely amiss.

His headache had almost completely cleared up by now, replaced by intense confusion and curiosity. He brought himself to his feet, swaying a little before he regained his balance. Gods, he was sore. It felt like he hadn’t used his legs in _months._ He stretched, cracking his back and neck, making him feel a little better. What in the world happened? Last he remembered he was on his way to Ylisstol.

Well, standing around in an open field certainly wasn’t going to get him any answers, and he didn’t want to be hanging around when any bandits _actually_ showed up. People could tell when their nations were on the cusp of war, and it made them desperate.

The only problem was, Robin had absolutely no idea where he was. He could be miles from the nearest town for all he knew, and with no one in sight to ask for directions he had no way of finding out. Wait! His map! He brought a map! He fumbled around inside of his coat, searching for the crinkled-up piece of parchment he had brought with him on his journey to Ylisstol. Unfortunately, that seemed to be the only thing that was missing. _‘Great. I’ve got gold and weapons, but no map.’_ He thought bitterly. It seemed his only option now was to just pick a direction and start walking.

He was still a little unsteady on his feet (gods, just how long was he passed out?), but he managed. Good thing it wasn’t winter—he didn’t want to think about what it’d be like trying to trudge through snow right now. He must’ve made a really lucky guess, because after only a few minutes of walking he was able to make out the faint outline of a village on the horizon. That lifted his hopes a little, and he increased his pace.

It wasn’t long before he reached the small town. His first order of business was finding an inn so he could take a bath. He couldn’t vouch for his appearance, but by how greasy his hair felt he was sure he needed one. After that, maybe he could worry about getting something to eat and buy a map somewhere. With how heavy his coinpurse now was he was certain he could afford it.

His stomach growled loudly. On second thought, maybe the meal should come first. He came across a small fruit stand that was being tended to by a friendly looking man. That’d do. “Excuse me, sir,” he called out, getting the shopkeeper’s attention.

“Why hello there. How may I help you?” The shopkeeper smiled genially.

Robin purchased a few apples from the man, his mouth already watering. He bit into one, and he swore no fruit had ever tasted so delicious in his entire life. How long had it been since he’d eaten? He was absolutely ravenous. He finished the first one quickly and moved on to the second.

The shopkeeper chuckled. “Hungry, are you? I’ve not seen you around here before. Long journey?”

Robin swallowed his mouthful. “Um, yeah. Something like that. Do you know where I can find the nearest inn?”

“Sure. Right over that way and to the left. Can’t miss it.”

“Alright. Thank you!” Robin stuffed the rest of his apples into his coat and made his way toward the inn. However, on his way there he noticed something out of the corner of his eye that gave him pause.

Haphazardly nailed to a signpost was a missing poster. It may have very well been an incredibly long journey before he reached Ylisstol, so he figured it wouldn’t hurt to look it over and keep his eyes open. It would be nice if he could potentially help some lost child return back home to their parents. He approached the poster, giving it a quick once-over, before his eyes widened. Where he expected to find a poster pleading for the return of a missing child, he found an official-looking notice emblazoned with the seal of the Ylissean royal family. If that wasn’t enough to surprise Robin, the portrait drawn on it certainly was.

It was him. He grabbed the poster and squinted, thoroughly examining it in case his eyes were deceiving him. No, there was no mistaking it. That was definitely a sketch of his own face. At first all he felt was confusion. He wasn’t missing, so why would anyone be looking for him? His only family (that he knew of) had been his mother, and she had died years ago. He decided to read the text just above the picture, hoping to find some clues there. It read:

_By order of the Exalt, Lord Chrom of House Ylisse, it is hereby decreed that any persons that are aware or become aware of the whereabouts of this man alert the Ylissean Royal Guard immediately. An inducement of 1,000,000 gold will be offered to any persons that successfully locate this man and directly aid in his return._

Prince Chrom, the Exalt? Robin’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He was positive that his elder sister Lady Emmeryn was the current ruler of Ylisse. In fact, that was the major reason he was going to Ylisse in the first place. The woman was regarded as no less than a saint, renowned for transforming Ylisse from a destitute, war-ravaged land into a thriving haven of peace. He certainly would have heard if she had died. He doubted there was _anyone_ on the whole continent who wouldn’t know if Exalt Emmeryn had died. Unless…… he _did_ feel like he hadn’t moved in months. Just how long was he asleep?

He shook the thought away as soon as it popped into his mind That was absolutely ridiculous. There was no way he was passed out in an open field for _so long_ that the ruler of one of the most prominent nations in the world had died, a new one took power, and war hadn’t immediately broken out, not without it being the first thing he heard about, at least. And _certainly,_ if he had been unconscious for that long he would have been robbed at least once.

His confusion was overshadowed by fear as he realized something. The _Exalt_ was looking for him. And he was willing to offer a _hefty_ sum of money to find him. He’d never even met the Ylissean royal family! Or any royal family for that matter! The mention of the Royal Guard was especially concerning. Did he unknowingly commit some sort of crime? No, any crime grievous enough to call for the _immediate_ contact of the Royal Guard would be nigh impossible to commit unintentionally. And if he was a criminal, why was there a missing poster instead of a wanted one? His mind raced a mile a minute as he desperately tried to make sense of it all, but the longer he thought about it the more questions came to light.

He took a deep breath, clearing his thoughts. No matter whatever else he didn’t know, he _did_ know one thing: he was being pursued by the Ylissean Royal Guard. Why, he had no idea, but he realized now that he had to be extremely careful. It was only a matter of blind luck that the shopkeeper from before hadn’t recognized him from the poster, and he didn’t want to take any more chances. He murmured an incantation under his breath, activating his cloak’s camouflage charm. He changed its appearance from its original, distinct Plegian design to that of a humble brown traveler’s coat. He was aware that he was a rather average looking man apart from his cloak and his bright white hair, so he should be safe from being recognized as long as he kept his cloak disguised. He put his hood up for some extra assurance and ripped the poster down, crumpling it into a ball and stuffing it into his pocket. He could think about his next course of action once he reached the inn.

He did his best to remain calm and act natural. The last thing he wanted was to draw suspicion to himself by acting furtive. He rented a room for the night at the inn (though he doubted he’d be staying that long) and hurried up the stairs as quickly as possible without drawing unnecessary attention.

Once the door to his room was closed and securely locked behind him, he sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. What on _earth_ was going on?! When he tried to recollect where he was before he woke up in that field, it just made his head throb again. He remembered preparing for his journey to Ylisstol a few months ago (at least, he _thought_ it was only a few months ago), but anything much past his departure was completely blank. He sighed again and massaged his now aching temples. He could really use that bath right about now.

Thank the gods that this inn had running water. He drew a scalding hot bath that fogged up all the mirrors, hoping that the steam would help him sort through his thoughts. He undressed and sank into the water, sighing as it soothed his sore muscles. Gods, he really did feel like he’d just woken up from a coma. He submerged himself up to his chest and closed his eyes, allowing himself a moment of calm before he began the arduous task of attempting to make sense of his situation.

 _‘I probably shouldn’t go to Ylisstol right now if the Royal Guard is after me. Not at least until I figure out why,’_ he thought as he soaped up his hair. Unfortunately, he didn’t even know where to start in terms of piecing together what he did to offend _the Exalt of Ylisse._ He would have to do some digging around in town to see if he could find some kind of lead. It _was_ the closest place to where he’d woken up—maybe there was something to be learned here. Then again, the shopkeeper hadn’t recognized him at all, so maybe not. He sighed. It was a shaky lead at best. At very least he could try and find some information about what happened to Exalt Emmeryn and why her younger brother now bore her title.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by the feeling of something cool against his skin as he washed his body. He pulled his hands away from where they were lathering soap onto his chest to find he was wearing an ornate silver band on his left ring finger. He certainly didn’t remember ever owning that. He brought his hand up to his face to better examine it, and he became even more certain that he had never bought this ring. There was no way he’d ever be able to _afford_ it. It was easily one of the most extravagant pieces of jewelry that he’d ever laid eyes on. Crystal-clear diamonds and sapphires (at least he thought they were sapphires, though they might be lapis. His knowledge on precious stones was limited at best) were embedded in the band. He slipped it off his finger and looked at it more closely

It had multiple detailed engravings on it, including one that looked like some sort of crest, though it wasn’t one he recognized. Now, Robin was a practical man—he’d never seen the use of excessive ornamentation. He knew for a fact that he _never_ would have bought this for himself. But the sleek design catered to his tastes, so whoever _did_ buy it for him knew him well enough to be able to recognize his preferences. And they cared for him enough to accommodate them. And that could only lead him to believe…………………

“I’m _married?!?!?!?”_ he yelled out loud. The ring slipped out of his fingers in his shock, and he scrambled to catch it before it fell in the water. He almost had a miniature heart attack. He would feel like the absolute _worst_ person in the world if he ever lost or ruined such an expensive wedding ring. And it _was_ a wedding ring, there was no doubt. He swallowed nervously. _‘Oh, this is going to cause me so much anxiety.’_ He certainly hoped that he had repaid his wife with a ring that was equally as nice, but he sincerely doubted it. He carefully slid it back onto his ring finger and finished his bath, drying off and dressing as quickly as possible so he could pace around the room.

He was _married?!?!? How???_ That shouldn’t even be _possible!_ He had thought that maybe he’d been unconscious for quite some time and that was why he had no idea what was happening, but you can’t exactly be unconscious for _your own godsdamned wedding._ This at least cleared that much up. It wasn’t necessarily that he’d been passed out for the past few months, it was that he’d _forgotten._

That explained a lot, actually. Why there was a new Exalt, why he was wanted by the Royal Guard with no recollection of ever committing a crime. Some way, somehow, he’d contracted amnesia. The question was, however, just how much had he forgotten?

A considerable amount of time, at least. He wracked his brain for any women he’d met that he could’ve ended up marrying. To no surprise, he came up completely blank. Ever since his mother died, he’d not really stayed in one place long enough to form any lasting connections. That meant that he had forgotten enough of his life for him to meet a woman, fall in love (hopefully), and get married. And Robin was not one to rush into things, so all that likely took quite some time. Gods, he had _forgotten_ his _wife._ A cold shiver ran down his spine. He may not know anything about what kind of person she is, but he was certain he was going to get quite the earful when he found her. If he could figure out who she was.

Suddenly, an idea popped into his head. The last he could remember, Ylisse and Plegia were on the verge of war. If he assumed that war did break out (as much as he loathed assumptions), and he managed to figure out how long ago the war began, then he’d probably have a pretty good guess at how far back he’d forgotten. This was good. This was progress. At least he had somewhere to start now.

He slipped his coat back on and made his way down the stairs into the small tavern below. There was bound to be at least one soldier that’d be willing to talk about the war, and if not, he was sure he could figure out a way to pry the information out of one of the other patrons.

He sat down at the bar and ordered a drink. Bartenders tended to be a bit on the chatty side, so he figured that was a good place to start. The bartender set his drink in front of him, and before Robin could even begin some idle pleasantries to lead into talk about the war, the bartender said, “Well, you’re lookin’ a lot better since you dropped in here. Rough day?”

“A bit.” Robin sipped his drink. “Just got a bit lost, is all. Lost my map, so I’m a little turned around.” He chuckled lightly. “Just to clarify, I am in Ylisse, right?”

The bartender laughed as well. “Yessir. Where exactly are you headed? Maybe I can point you in the right direction.”

“Ylisstol, actually.” Robin tried to sound nonchalant as he segued. “Though I might reconsider. To be honest, I’m a little concerned how much work I’ll be able to find there after the war, you know?” It was a bit of a gamble, both assuming that there was a war and that it was over, but it was a risk Robin was willing to take. And the worst that could happen was he made himself look like a fool. 

The bartender smiled. “Really? You must be from pretty far away. I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that, sir. It’s been quite some time since Lord Chrom and his Shepherds showed them Valmese what for and kicked ‘em out. Lotsa good things happenin’ in the capital since then.”

Robin wanted to raise an eyebrow, but he kept his face casually neutral. The Valmese? What did they have to do with anything? Had there been more than one war? He decided to pry a little more directly. “Oh really? I’ll have to reconsider my reconsideration, then. Speaking of which, wasn’t Ylisse in another war before that? Oh, how long ago was it again?”

The bartender blinked. “You mean Plegia? I’d reckon that was about, uh… ‘bout eight years ago now. Don’t know much ‘bout what happened to ‘em after. Heard they finally got a new permanent king not long ago.”

Robin felt all the blood drain from his face. _Eight years???_ If this bartender was right, then he had forgotten eight whole years of his life. Gods, he could have _kids_ for all he knew! He was completely floored, and he suddenly felt very dizzy.

“Hey, sir? Are you feelin’ okay? You don’t look too good.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I just, uh, have to go. It was good talking to you. Goodbye.” He ignored the bartender’s concerned calls as he swept out of the inn. Good thing about packing light is that you can just leave whenever you want to. Or whenever you feel like vomiting in the bushes.

Fortunately, Robin did _not_ vomit in the bushes. He got directions to the nearest marketplace and headed directly there. He bought a satchel, some provisions, and the first decent map he could find, and then he was gone, walking as quickly as he could out of town. This was going to be a _long_ journey. But he needed answers.

And by the gods, he was going to get them.


	2. Unexpected Change

It might’ve been a long walk from Southtown (as Robin now knew the village he woke up near to be called) to Ylisstol, but it was an even longer walk from Southtown to Plegia. And that was precisely why he was currently on a boat. Had he elected to continue on foot, he would have had to travel all around the peninsula, which would have taken him even further into Ylisse. Seeing as he was apparently a wanted man there, he thought it prudent to avoid the area for a while. And besides, if he wanted to learn about the war with Plegia, then what better place to go to then Plegia?

Plegia. In all Robin’s travels, it was still a land he had only ever heard about. Comprised almost entirely of desert and barren wasteland, known for being an avid war-mongerer. A theocracy, if he remembered correctly, that ensured its people lived in constant fear of the cruel god they worship.

Not one to go anywhere without preparation, he had picked up a few books on the nation (mostly tactical but Robin blamed that on his fascination with strategy). Before they declare all-out war, they tend to distract and demoralize their opponents by sending fleets of brigands disguised as trading vessels to ransack and pillage smaller towns around the border. Apparently, Southtown was a frequent victim of such attacks during the war. It was an effective strategy, if ruthless and underhanded. Plegia was also known for having the strongest navy on the continent, which was saying something when you’re competing against Regna Ferox concerning anything involving the military. Overall, a very formidable nation. Honestly, Robin was surprised that they had lost the war—he hadn’t realized Ylisse had such an impressive army.

The boat ride gave him plenty of time to think up a plan to gather information, so when he landed, he knew exactly where to go. He doubted he’d be recognized here, but he still kept his cloak concealed and his hood up, though he began to regret that decision as the harsh Plegian sun beat down on his back. Oh well, at least the hood was useful for keeping the sand out of his eyes. For some reason, he had always pictured Plegia being a lot less windy, but he supposed you learn new things every day. As an extra measure, he also cast a simple concealment spell on himself. Nothing overt, just something to make any wandering eyes less inclined to linger on him.

Luckily, there was a bazaar right near the port he landed at. He headed straight that way and got to work. The bazaar was busy, jam-packed with shopping patrons, street performers, and salespeople hawking their wares of all kinds. It was a lot livelier than Robin had expected from the foreboding, oppressive nation of Plegia, but perhaps the tales he had heard were exaggerated.

He scoured the bazaar for any especially helpful-looking shopkeepers. He caught sight of a small stall selling various times and books ran by a stout older woman. Perfect. “Excuse me, ma’am,” he said as he approached the stall. “I’m terribly sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions? I’m a scholar from overseas, and I’ve been tasked with recording information from Plegia about the war with Ylisse. Anything you can remember helps.” He smiled as good-naturedly as he could. It was a boldfaced lie, but he was desperate.

The woman looked surprised for a moment. “Oh. Well, I don’t know how much I can help, but I’d be happy to tell you what I can.”

Robin grinned. “Excellent! Thank you very much.” He pulled out a notebook and a quill from his satchel (he might as well _try_ to look official). “So, just for formality’s sake, how long ago did the war end?”

She moved her hand up to her face as she thought. “Oh, it was quite some time ago. Didn’t last very long either, if I’m remembering right. Well, my husband came home about seven years ago, so I’d say it’s been seven years.”

He raised an eyebrow and jotted down what she said. “Your husband was a soldier?”

“Oh yes, and mighty proud of it too.” A dark shadow crossed over her face. “That is, until King Gangrel tried to execute Exalt Emmeryn. None of the soldiers had much fight left in them after that.”

Now _that_ was some progress. Robin jumped on it. “You say he _tried_ to execute the Exalt? He didn’t succeed?”

“My! You must be from real far away if you don’t know about that! Not a soul in Plegia doesn’t remember when Lady Emmeryn jumped off the executioner’s platform and sacrificed herself to end the war. A tragedy it was. My husband saw it with his own eyes. After something like that… well, it’s no wonder no one wanted to fight anymore.”

Robin couldn’t believe her ears. Exalt Emmeryn _committed suicide_ in hopes of inspiring people to stop fighting? The very idea sounded ludicrous and almost arrogant, but from what the shopkeeper was saying it sounded like it worked. _‘Well, that’s one mystery solved.’_ “I’m sorry he had to see that. I hear the Exalt was a very inspirational woman.” He wrote down the information. “You said your husband was a soldier under King Gangrel, correct? Did he happen to mention anything about the conditions? What kind of leader he was?”

The shopkeeper huffed and crossed her arms. “Yes, he certainly did! Treated them like cattle, he did. Expendable. Why, that witch of an advisor of his used to murder scouts just for giving bad news!” She shook her head. “He had it coming to him when the troops deserted him. Left him for dead like how he left them.”

Robin scribbled down what she said. This was good. This was very good. He was getting somewhere. Some customers approached the stall, and he decided now would be a good time to take his leave. He snapped the notebook shut and gave the shopkeeper a grateful smile. “Thank you so much for speaking with me, ma’am. This will greatly help my work. Once again, I apologize for the trouble.”

“Don’t worry about it, dear. I don’t mind. I hope everything goes well with your work.”

“Thank you, ma’am” And with that he excused himself and moved on to find someone else to gather some information off of.

He caught sight of a blacksmith pounding away at a sword on an anvil. There weren’t many customers nearby, so he approached him. “Excuse me, sir. I’m a scholar from abroad trying to record information about the war between Plegia and Ylisse eight years ago. If it wouldn’t be too much trouble to take up some of your time, I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions?”

The man didn’t respond, just continued hammering out the sword he was working on. He didn’t even look up. Robin figured he must not have heard him, so he cleared his throat and repeated himself. “Sir?”

There was a loud _clang_ that made Robin jump nearly five feet in the air. The blacksmith slowly turned towards him, and a cold chill ran down his spine. He glowered and said in a low, gruff voice, "You here to buy, son?"

Robin’s face went sheet white. The man’s stare was nothing less than _icy,_ and it took him a moment to stammer out, “N-no, sir. I’m a scholar, you see, and I—”

“I don’t care if you’re the princess of Valm, either you buy something, or you get out of my face and stop wasting my time. So I’ll ask again, boy: you here to buy?” 

Robin swallowed as the hulking man stood, towering over him. He glanced at the prices on some of his wares, finding them to be _way_ out of his price range. Having a desperate desire to leave the country with both of his kneecaps intact, he looked off to the ground, mumbled, “No, sir, sorry to bother you,” and left as quickly as possible.

As soon as he was far enough away from the blacksmith that the blood returned to his face, he let out a deep breath and wiped the sweat from his forehead. _‘That certainly could have gone better.’_ But at least things could only go uphill from here, right?

Wrong.

The cooperation of the bookseller must have been some random fluke, because every single other person he tried to talk to treated him similarly to the blacksmith (with perhaps less threats on his life). Apparently, most shopkeepers don’t take very kindly to nosy loiterers who don’t buy anything. But what could Robin do? He had money, sure, but he was a very frugal man and he needed to save that to pay for his nights at various inns. He couldn’t just go around wasting it on stuff he didn’t need (and couldn’t carry, for that matter).

He burned through the entire day with the only information gained being that the bookseller had given him. While that was certainly important, he had been hoping to glean a lot more by the end of the day. He sighed and sat down on the steps of the latest inn he’d been kicked out of, resting his elbows on his knees. The cool chill of dusk began to creep into the air, and he was suddenly grateful to have his coat. Before finding a place to stay for the night, he decided to sit there and watch the sky for a bit, the bazaar closing up shop nearby. He had to hand it to Plegia—it had beautiful sunsets. There was something about how the gold and orange hues fanned out across the sky over the desert, as though it was almost mirroring the sands below. The sight calmed his ragged mind.

“Long day there, pal? You look absolutely ex- _CAW_ -sted!”

Robin jumped, snapping out of his musings. His eyes landed on the figure of a young, hooded man with white hair and a slightly unsettling closed-eyed smile plastered wide across his face. Under normal circumstances, he may have been distrustful of this stranger, but he was _very_ tired, and he was one of the only people to treat him cordially since he’d arrived. He sighed and gave the man a half-smile. “Yes, actually. Things haven’t been going so great for me lately.”

The man cocked his head to the side curiously. “Really? That’s too bad.” He grinned brightly, still not opening his eyes (how could he see?). “Hey! I was just taking a little stroll. You don’t look all that busy—why don’t you join me and tell me about it? Might make you feel better.” He rocked back and forth on his heels and offered Robin his hand. “So? What do you say? I promise it’ll make your mood _soar,_ nya ha!”

Robin was almost certain that he _should not_ trust this man. Everything about him from his posture to his laugh was deeply unnerving. But for some reason, he found himself shrugging and taking his hand, pulling himself to his feet. He heard himself say, “Sure, why not.”

The man laughed again (really, that was an odd laugh) and clapped his hands together, delighted. “Oh goodie! I love being helpful!” They began to walk aimlessly, and he continued. “So, what’s on your mind? Hopefully it’s nothing too _CAW-_ nsequential, nya ha!”

Seriously, what was with this guy and all the bird puns? Looking over his shoulder, Robin saw a small group of crows following not far behind him. Okay, a little creepy, but at least that explained it. He sighed and massaged his temples. Maybe he could try and get some information out of this guy—seeing as he was one of the only people willing to even talk to him. “It’s not all that serious, I suppose. It’s just that, well, I’m a scholar, you see, from abroad. And right now it’s my job to record some things about the war between Plegia and Ylisse eight years ago.” He didn’t have to fake his frustration when he sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Unfortunately, very few people I’ve tried to talk to have been anything close to cooperative. I’m just a bit frustrated, is all.”

He cocked his head to the side again. “Is that it? I can help you with that! I was in the war! Well, not the war with Plegia, but I still lived here!”

Robin blinked. Wow, that was easy. Maybe this guy wasn’t so bad after all—he seemed like he genuinely wanted to help. He smiled. “Really? Thank you, that’s wonderful!” He fished his notebook and quill back out of his satchel. “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

“Ask away!”

“Okay, so, just for reference, what was life like in Plegia before the war?”

The man’s perpetual smile dropped just slightly as he pouted. “Aww, you don’t want to hear about my gory escapades? I killed a _lot_ of people, you know. Wouldn’t that be better for your record?”

The joyful way he spoke about his past murders made Robin slightly sick to his stomach, but he ignored it. “I, um, appreciate the offer but no thank you. It’s not that kind of record. Hearing about living conditions would be much more helpful, thank you.”

“Alriiiiiight, but it’s kinda boring. Grimleal controlling the government and generally being icky and whatnot.” He waved his hand dismissively.

“How exactly were the Grimleal… ‘icky’, if you don’t mind my asking? I’m afraid I’m not familiar with the practices of the religion.” He cringed internally at the wording.

“Oh, you know. Enforcing their beliefs as law, kidnapping children off the streets, human sacrifices, that sort of thing.” The lightness of his tone starkly contrasted the horror of his words.

“Excuse me, but did you say _human sacrifices?”_ Robin was incredulous. He knew the Grimleal were cruel and immoral, but he never thought it went _that_ far.

The man just kept on grinning. “Oh yeah, all the time! It was pretty standard practice, really. _Especially_ when they tried to resurrect Grima three years ago. Need a loooooooot of sacrifices for something like that!” 

“Pardon me, _ **what**???” What?!?!?!? WHAT?!?!?!?_ Why—what—how did Robin forget that??? That seemed pretty damn important. But he could finish kicking himself later, because the man had more to say.

“Yep! It didn’t work, obviously, otherwise the world would be blown to smithereens and we’d all just be little red smears of the ground with all our guts and stuff spilling everywhere. Ooh, that’s a fun thought!” (Robin once again ignored the minor nausea). The man shrugged and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his coat. "But, yeah, after that they all kinda disappeared. Not really any Grimleal running around anymore!”

That gave Robin pause. Now that he thought about it, for a supposedly totalitarian theocracy ran by a homicidal cult, he hadn’t seen any priests or hierophants monitoring the bazaar! He heard that the Grimleal controlled every part of Plegians’ lives, so why wouldn’t there be any watching over such a large gathering? It didn’t make sense. Not to mention he didn’t notice a single armed man or woman—didn’t the Grimleal make it incredibly dangerous to leave the house? He mentally berated himself for being so unobservant. _‘How did I not notice any of that? A theocracy with **no** signs of their religion? It **screams** suspicion, Robin! Pull yourself together!’_

Robin collected his thoughts enough to record this new information in his notebook. He cleared his throat. “Wow, um… so I take it Plegia is no longer a theocracy if the Grimleal are completely disbanded?”

“Yep, nya ha ha ha! Things have been _preeeety_ crazy around here for the past few years, but it’s finally started to settle down. Just a plain old monarchy now—got a whole new royal family too!” He looked up at the sky (as much as a man who never opens his eyes can look at something), and his eyebrows climbed up to his hairline. “Oh, wow look how late it’s gotten! I should probably get going now. It was lotsa fun talking to you, I love talking about the war! Good times, good times.”

“I suppose it is getting pretty dark. I really appreciate you telling me all this. It’ll be very helpful. Thank you…….” He fished around for the man’s name, realizing he’d never given him one.

“You can call me Henry.” His grin widened. 

Robin gave him a sincere smile back. “Thank you Henry, really. I’m very grateful.”

“No problem! Goodbye friend! Maybe we’ll see each other again.” And with that, Henry swept off back in the direction he came, the crows cawing behind right behind him. Robin probably should have been uncomfortable and maybe even scared at the prospect of seeing him again, but he wasn’t. It actually sounded… kind of nice, as strange as it was to say.

Well, no matter his opinions on the strange man, the fact of the matter was that he had made considerable progress in finding out what he’d forgotten thanks to him. Robin felt much better than before, and it was with a renewed determination that he set off to find a place to stay for the night

* * *

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU _LOST THE KING?!?!?!?!?!?”_ A small, dark-haired woman screeched at a pair of cowering guards. “YOU HAD _ONE_ JOB! WHAT KIND OF _MORONS_ LOSE THEIR _OWN DAMN KING?!?!?!”_

“Aww, don’t be too hard on them, Tharja. I’m slippery.”

Tharja jumped a little as he appeared out of nowhere. She turned on him, seething. “Where have you been? You have _responsibilities_ now, Henry! You can’t just go off galivanting across the countryside whenever the whim strikes you!”

Henry laughed. “Good thing I wasn’t galivanting across the countryside, then! I was just out for a little stroll through the city.”

She gritted her teeth, practically growling, and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Never mind. We need to talk, _now_. In private.”

“Oakie dokie! Lead the way!”

She grabbed his arm and dragged him inside the castle, the guards giving them wide berth. She grumbled something under her breath that sounded an awful lot like, “Of all the candidates in Plegia why _you._ ” Henry laughed at that, and soon they were in a conference room with the door shut tight behind them.

Henry removed his arm from Tharja’s grip and rocked back and forth on his heels, his smile carefree as ever. “Sooooo how’s Virion doing? Have his citizens stopped throwing rocks at him back in Rosanne yet? Nya ha!”

Tharja massaged her temples, sighing deeply. “I swear to the gods being you vizier had to be most infuriating job on the planet. My husband it fine, but that is not the most pressing issue here.”

Henry paid no mind to her urgent tone. “Oh goodie! Cordelia was just asking about him—I’m sure she’d be really sad if he got hit in the head real good and all his brains started oozing out everywhere! So it’s good things have settled down, though I’d love to see it!”

She sneered at him in disgust. “Are you capable of having a serious conversation for _five fucking minutes?_ This morning my location hex went off at the border. _Robin is in Plegia._ Or at least he _was_ , with how long it took me to track you down he very well may have left!” She was absolutely _fuming_ , so much so that it wouldn’t have been a surprise of smoke started spewing from her ears.

“Oh, yeah! I knew that! I just saw him a little bit ago! He was acting real funny, nya ha! He was pretending to be a scholar and asked me lots of questions. It was really fun!”

Tharja’s eye twitched and a dark, menacing shadow passed over her face. She whispered lowly, sinister venom seeping into her tone, “You mean to tell me, that you _saw Robin_ … with your _own two eyes_ … And you _DIDN’T TELL ME????”_

  
Instead of acting frightened, like any sane person, Henry just laughed. “Hey, no need for any of that. Wow, I thought you’d gotten over that crazy obsession with him! But you don’t haveta worry, because I literally _just_ saw him. We had a little chat, and then I came straight here, yes ma’am.”

She sighed again, but there was a little less murder in her eyes now. “Well, at least we know he’s still here. Do you know where he was going? We need to find him _immediately_ so we can report to Chrom and take him back to Ylisstol.”

“Hey, hey, hey, hold your pegasi there. It’s getting pretty late, and if you ask me Robin seemed preeeety beat. We can notify Chrom in the morning and track him down then. Let him get some shut-eye.”

Tharja gave him an incredulous look that slowly morphed into one of irritation. “That is an idiotic idea and you know it. _He is right in the palm of our hand_ after three years of searching. If we wait any longer he’s going to slip through our fingers! Why would we ever do that?”

Henry tapped his chin with his finger thoughtfully, then his grin widened. “Oh, I don’t know, but I am still the king, right? And as much of a friend you are to me, I am still your boss. So what I say goes, yeah?” He slowly cracked one eye open, his violet iris radiating thinly veiled menace. “And what I say, it that we let the man sleep. We can deal with bringing him home in the morning. Understood?”

Tharja gritted her teeth, but he sighed and relented. “Yes, your highness.”

Henry chuckled gleefully and clapped his hands together. “Great! So we’ll go to bed and handle this tomorrow. Goodnight, Tharja! Don’t let the risen bite!” He swept out of the room, his cape billowing behind him.

The door shut, leaving Tharja alone. She sighed for the umpteenth time and pinched the bridge of her nose. One of these days that man is going to kill me,” she muttered as she exited to her chambers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realized that I posted the Tharja chapter on Tharja's birthday, so happy birthday Tharja, I guess?
> 
> Also I'm really really hope that you all are liking the story so far and I hope you let me know what you think down in the comments!
> 
> ****Important Note***** I just now realized that I accidentally COMPLETELY skipped the first half of Henry's introduction in this chapter, so I fixed it and it probably makes a whole lot more sense now! So sorry!!


	3. Wolves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the slow update! I've had this written out for quite some time, but I've been super swamped with online school work since the quarantine began, so I've not had the time I needed to type it out. I finally managed to find some time today, and I'm currently working on the next two chapters as well, it's not very long, but I hope you all enjoy it!

It didn’t take long for Robin to realize that it may take quite some time for him to gather all the information he needed from the past eight years. Realizing this, he knew that he couldn’t afford to continue sleeping at inns every night, so after he travelled around Plegia for a little while he endeavored to purchase some camping equipment. He found himself back in Ylisse, in a relatively small town near the border. He had to be sure to tread very carefully—he thought it unlikely that he’d run into any of the Royal Guard so far away from the capital, but he wasn’t going to take any chances. He didn’t want to have to stay in Ylisse for any longer than he had to; just long enough to buy a tent and some other supplies and be on his way.

One perk of having an enchanted, appearance-changing coat was that he could slightly alter it whenever he went to a new town for maximum stealth. There wasn’t much possible variation in basic traveler’s cloaks, but he could change the shape and pattern minutely so that there was even less of a chance of him being caught as he traveled from town to town.

For some reason, camping supplies were a lot harder to find that Robin expected (either the shops were picked over or they just didn’t carry them), so he had to wander into multiple towns to find any, bringing him much closer to Ylisstol than he was comfortable with. It took him a few days to finally find a city that had what he needed in stock, thereby further depleting his coinpurse as he purchased more rooms to stay in for the night.

After wandering around the shopping district for a while he finally found what he needed. To avoid spending any more money than he had to by buying a larger bag to carry his equipment, he cast a simple enlarging enchantment on his satchel so that it could carry just about anything regardless of size. Well, maybe it wasn’t the _most_ simple enchantment in the world, but Robin had always been gifted with magic.

The shopkeeper smiled and thanked him for his purchase. Before Robin left, however, he stopped him and said, “Hey, sir, I think your friend over there is wanting to talk to you. He keeps looking over at you.”

That sent a cold chill of alarm through Robin. He’d taken every possible precaution! How had he been found?! Gods, he _knew_ coming back to Ylisse was a bad idea. Now the Royal Guard was going to drag him away and have him jailed or even executed for a crime he didn’t even remember committing!

He took a deep, calming breath. He doesn’t necessarily know that. He mustn’t jump to conclusions, even though his paranoia may be justified. It might be nothing, just stay calm. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Friend? What friend?”

“That big fella right that way.” The shopkeeper pointed somewhere over Robin’s shoulder. “It seems pretty urgent from the looks of it. He’s been staring at you and frowning for about a good few minutes now. I think he might be angry atcha.”

Robin looked where he was pointing, and his blood ran cold. He glanced away faster than lightening lest the man realize he saw him, his heart pounding a mile a minute against his ribcage. He may be a foreigner, but even he recognized the hulking, mountain of a man that was Prince Chrom’s personal retainer. Sir Frederick, if he remembered correctly. He’d heard the stories, but _gods,_ was he huge. He’d only glanced at him for a second, but the behemoth decked out in full armor looked like he could snap Robin’s spine with his bare hands ten times over, and the intense crease in his brow gave him the impression that he wanted to. And with Prince Chrom being the new Exalt, that likely made Sir Frederick………… the head of the Royal Guard. Robin began to sweat.

_‘Okay, don’t panic. You can handle this. Just have to lose him.’_ Without another word to the shopkeeper, Robin tugged his hood further down over his face and began to walk away, keeping Sir Frederick in his peripheral vision. He moved in the same direction. _‘Gods damn my lack of observation! How did I not notice him sooner? Now he’s following me, and that blunder is going to end up getting me thrown in prison! There has to be a way to get him off my trail so I can escape town. Think, Robin, think!’_

The last thing he wanted was to make a scene, so he needed to get out of there, fast. He spotted a large congregation of people standing not far away to gawk at a man juggling swords. That’d do. He began to weave his way through the crowd, mumbling an incantation under his breath. He’d already cast that illusion spell to draw away wandering eyes, but this one made him damn near invisible unless you were touching him or focusing on him _very_ intently. Hopefully, the crowd would make the knight lose sight of him, and he was going to make sure he didn’t regain it.

The people in the crowd didn’t seem to even notice him as he politely pushed past. He weaved around in circles and zigzags until he was satisfied. He emerged from the throng and discretely glanced over his shoulder. Shit. There he was still with that intense scowl on his face. He wasn’t exactly _following_ Robin, at least, not overtly. He was just standing off to the side a few yards behind and staring after him. He seemed almost… confused? Like he wasn’t totally sure what he was seeing. _‘Hmm. Maybe my concealment charm worked at least a little bit.’_ Still, it was impressive that he was able to keep track of him at all—he pulled out all the stops with that one. If he was able to resist the effects of such a powerful spell, then he was certainly not one to trifle with.

Robin began to sweat again, and he swallowed thickly. He must have been staring for too long because Sir Frederick began to approach him. Arm outstretched. Mouth open to yell something. Shit. Think, stay calm. Eyes darted frantically. Lots of people. Vegetable cart. Carrots. Barrels. A “Sorry sir” to the farmer and he tore the barrels off the cart, sending them bouncing and rolling behind him. He sprinted down the street as fast as he could, feet slamming against the cobblestone.

Startled shrieks filled the air. A booming voice bellowed, “Halt! Get back here!” and the clang of armor hitting cobblestone. He didn’t dare look back. The clanging grew faster, and soon he’d be upon him. He couldn’t outrun the captain of the Royal Guard. Think Robin think! Spice cart on the left. He’s right behind him now. Fingertips grazing the hood of his coat. He grabbed a handful of spices and threw them in his face. He roared in pain, clutching his eyes.

Robin ducked into a network of alleyways. Left. Left. Right. Left. Right. Right. Legs throbbing with every impact against the hard ground. Run, run, _run._ Lungs aching. Vision swimming. Heart hammering against his ribs. _Run._

He emerged from the alley and stumbled through the nearest door. He finally paused to catch his breath, doubling over with his hands on his knees as he greedily gulped down air. He didn’t think he’d ever ran that fast in his life. Being a wanted criminal would certainly take some getting used to.

Once he was breathing normally again, he heard an irritated “ahem” from behind him. He swiveled around to find a young woman with a bright red ponytail, polite smile thinly veiling her annoyance. “Hello, sir,” she said a bit _too_ sweetly. “Welcome to my shop. My name is Anna. Is there anything you’re looking for, or…” She looked him up and down, taking in his undoubtedly disheveled appearance, her smile turning slightly tense. “Are you just browsing?”

From that look in her eyes and his experience in Plegia, he knew that “just browsing” was 100% the _wrong_ answer. She may not throw him out immediately, but he didn’t want to take any chances, so he made something up. “Um…” he said, still panting a little. “Do you have any books? Tactical or history books, to be precise?”

She beamed and clapped her hands delightedly. “I most certainly do! Just let me go dig some out of the back.” She disappeared behind the counter, and he let out a long, relieved sigh. He may not be able to afford such novelties in the long run, but he _really_ couldn’t afford to get tossed out and left to the wolves in the short-term.

At least he seemed to be safe for the moment. He took the opportunity to take in the shop he’d blindly rushed into. Bobbles and knick-knacks of all sorts lines the shelves, tonics and skin creams were neatly organized in a glass cabinet against the far wall, and fresh produce was piled up in various barrels and crates scattered about. This store had everything: riding gear, camping gear, food, medicine, even weapons mounted up on the walls. _‘What an odd assortment.’_

Anna emerged from the back room, hauling three large crates filled with books. She dumped them onto the counter with a _thud_ and dusted her hands off on her pants. “I think this is all of them. Let me know if you need anything else!”

Robin gave her a grateful (if weary) smile. “Thank you. I will.” He eyed the crates, finding them all to be jam-packed with thick, heavy tomes. How had she been able to carry all these? “You’re… a lot stronger than you look. Not saying that you look weak or anything, but I doubt I could carry _one_ of these crates, let alone three.” He gave an awkward chuckle.

She grinned at him brightly. “I know, right? Gotta be able to haul around stock and get it all organized!”

Robin’s smile was a lot more genuine this time. Her energy was infectious. “Of course.” He began to comb through the contents of the crates. His original intent had just been to buy himself some time, but he was honestly impressed by her selection. She had some very rare volumes that he’d just been dying to get his hands on. _‘Maybe there’s some good to this whole situation after all,’_ he mused.

He plucked a few books out from the crates and placed them on the counter. Anna’s eyes glittered as he brought out his coinpurse, and he noticed an extra bounce in her movements as she rang him up. He glanced around the shop once more. “It’s quite the place you’ve got here.”

“Isn’t it? It’s my pride and joy.” She got a dreamy look in here eyes and she sighed. “It’s always hard to leave it when I go on my travels.”

He raised a curious eyebrow, exchanging a few gold coins for the books. “You travel?”

“Sort of. I’m a traveling merchant by trade, but the market’s been packed ever since the war ended since it’s safe to travel again, so I set up shop here. I still wander around with my wares sometimes, though.”

“Hmm. Interesting.” He stuffed the books into his satchel.

She paused all of a sudden and looked at him strangely. “In fact, you actually seem kind of… familiar. Yeah, I’m certain I’ve seen you somewhere before!”

Robin swallowed down the lump that had formed in his throat. He needed to make a strategic exit and flee the country _now._ The last thing he needed was some random merchant tipping off the Royal Guard. He chuckled nervously. “I, um, I’m sure you must be mistaken. I’m a pretty average looking guy, so I get that a lot actually—"

“IN THE NAME OF THE EXALT I ORDER YOU TO HALT!!!!”

Gods fucking damn it shit piss fuck. He thought he’d _lost_ him! But now here he was in all his scowling, armor-glinting, sword-wielding, pain-in-the-ass glory. Robin darted around a shelf as he burst in through the door. Climbed on top of a cabinet. Jumped on a shelf. Feet dangling in the air. Knick knacks tumbled and crashed onto the floor. He grabbed one and threw it at Frederick. It shattered against his head, sending dust and porcelain shards flying through the air.

“Sorry Anna!” Robin took advantage of his momentary distraction and rolled onto the floor. Dashed outside and fast as he could, leaving trails of dust in his wake.

He zig-zagged in and out of alleys and markets, not once pausing or slowing. Blood pulsed loudly in his ears so that he couldn’t hear the shrieks of alarm as he barreled pass. He ran and ran and ran and ran and ran until his feet felt like falling off and he was far beyond the city limits.

When he finally stopped, he collapsed onto the hard ground, panting heavily. He was in decent shape, but that took very last drop of energy out of him, leaving his body completely drained. The grass tickled his face, but he didn’t get up. He was vaguely aware that he was in a forest, trees towering above him into the sky. He should be safe here. He may have just bought a tent, but he couldn’t bring himself to move to set it up. His eyelids grew heavy, drooping so much that he could no longer keep them open. He decided that, right then, there was no better place to take a nap than on the ground.


	4. Realm of History

It took a few days of wandering around in the woods for Robin to find another town, and even longer for him to stumble across anything interesting. His search for information had been sort of put on hold in favor of figuring out how to evade the law. He decided that he should only go into town when absolutely necessary while in Ylisse, and to live in his tent the rest of the time. However, he really wasn’t fond of living like a wild forest hobo, so he couldn’t resist poking around for new information whenever he _was_ in contact with civilization.

He didn’t learn anything new directly, but after a bit of digging he heard someone mention something about the Ylissean Record Hall. Apparently, there was a grand library in a small town outside of Ylisstol that held pretty much every official document and record in the entire haildom since its conception—he’d even heard that it held the royal family’s birth certificates. Luckily, it was open to the public, at least most of it.

So Robin made the trek to the Record Hall. The town it was in was more like a village than anything—only a few shops here and there and it seemed like the majority of business revolved around maintaining the hall. That was perfectly fine by him. The less people he came into contact with the less people who could recognize him and the less likely he was to get thrown in prison.

He had to admit, it was one _hell_ of a library. There had to be at least twelve stories: a hulking tower of knowledge. Under any other circumstance, he would’ve loved nothing more than to spend the next few weeks combing the shelves, running his fingers over the old, weathered spines of near-ancient texts, and devouring all of the knowledge they had to offer. Unfortunately, he had a mission to accomplish, and the longer he stayed the more likely that mission was to be compromised.

The library was completely deserted on the day he visited. So silent he could’ve heard a pin drop and echo against the gilded walls and vaulted ceilings. He would have thought it was closed were it not for the check-in book and the note on the librarian’s desk: _Organizing shelves on the upper floors. First through sixth floors are open to the public. Seventh through twelfth require clearance._ He decided to forgo the check-in and just got straight to it. Unfortunately, there was just _so much._ It’d take him weeks to find what he was looking for!

He was going to get nowhere with this, not without a directory of some kind. He could have asked the librarian, but they weren’t at their desk. Wait. _The librarian wasn’t at their desk._ An idea began to form in his mind. As long as he didn’t actually _encounter_ the librarian, he was sure they wouldn’t mind if he borrowed the directory. That is, if they left a copy in their desk.

He glanced around to check if the coast was clear before sneaking behind the desk. It was rather nice, made of some kind of heavy, dark wood with a glossy finish and gold trimmings. Though he supposed that was to be expected of a government building. He rummaged around in the drawers for a directory, but to no avail. _‘C’mon, it’s gotta be here somewhere. I can’t believe that a library this big would only have **one** directory.’ _Right when he thought he might just have to start wandering the shelves aimlessly, his hand made contact with a hidden compartment inside the hollow of the desk where someone’s feet would usually go.

He tried to tug it open, only to find that it was jammed shut. Locked. As much as he hated the idea of breaking in (never mind the fact that he was planning on ~~stealing~~ _borrowing_ an official document), he knew it was pretty much his only option. And besides, he was already a wanted criminal, what’s one more minor crime? He drew some sigils in the air with his finger and murmured an unlocking spell. He heard the drawer unlock with a quiet _click_. With one tug it was open, and what was right on top but a complete directory of the entire library.

He snatched up the hefty packet and slid the drawer closed again. He tried to rearrange the other contents of the desk to try and mask that he had been pilfering through them. Once he was satisfied, he cracked open the directory and began looking for anything that seemed relevant. He already had a decent grasp on what happened during the war with Plegia, so he figured it would be good to gather some intel on the conflict in Valm. _‘Okay, so according to this, records kept on Valmese relations are located on the… sixth floor.’_

Wasn’t the sixth floor one of the ones that required clearance? Robin sighed. _‘Why can’t anything ever be easy?’_ Oh well, looks like Robin was going to be breaking a lot of rules today. As long as he managed to evade the librarian, he was sure he could find a way to sneak into the restricted section. It appeared as though this may begin to become a habit.

There were these large, extravagant spiral staircases that led up to the upper floors. By the time he got to the sixth-floor landing, he was completely out of breath and had to take a moment. What was the point of such a tall building? They probably could’ve housed the same amount of information with less height and more width. But alas, Robin was not an architect, so he had to live with it.

He was surprised by the lack of security on the so-called restricted section. The only thing separating it from the public area was a rope on the staircase and a sign that read: _No access beyond this point without clearance._ He easily stepped over the rope and made his way to the section regarding the Valmese War. His steps echoed far more than he would have liked against the pristine tile floor of the vast, chamber-like room, so he cast a minor spell to muffle them.

He may have narrowed his search down to one floor, but there was still an insane amount of looking he had to do. He thumbed through the shelves, trying to find something with a title that seemed related to Valm and the war. Unfortunately, it looked like the majority of the records had to do with just general information on international relations. Trade agreements, immigration laws, treaties. He was honestly a bit confused as to why that sort of stuff was in the restricted section: none of it seemed very “classified” to him, but Robin wasn’t a politician either, so oh well.

He continued his search deeper into the library, carefully scrutinizing each log that he passed. He noticed that every single book, shelf, nook, and crevasse was absolutely spotless, almost to the point of sparkling, with not a spec of dust in sight. He’d assume that such a large building with such old, un-accessed texts would be incredibly difficult to maintain and keep so thoroughly clean. That caused a trickle of anxiety to grow in his stomach. The librarian must be very dedicated and observant. And if that was the case, then he would be in _major_ trouble if he was caught. And the chance that he would be caught was increasing with every second he lingered. And didn’t the note on the desk say that the librarian was organizing things on the upper floors? Now, there were eleven floors that could be considered “upper”, and he had no idea when that note was written, but that uncertainty was even more of a reason to find what he was looking for and get out of there fast. 

Just when he began to think that this information was kept in a different building, a battered, leather-bound journal tightly packed in a shelf at the very back caught his eye. He stopped his hand over it and tried to wiggle it out. Damn, it was really stuck in there. With a hard tug it finally came out………... along with the two other books it was jammed between, which clattered on the floor with an echoing, deafening _thunk._

Robin froze. He poked his head out from behind the bookshelf and darted his eyes around to check if anyone had heard and was now coming to arrest him. After a solid three minutes of nothing but the sound of his heart pounding against his ribcage, he allowed himself to relax and breathe a sigh of relief. Thank the gods. Looked like no one heard.

He quickly picked up the two books that fell and rearranged them back onto the shelf as best as he could. He turned his attention back to the journal in his hands. What stood out to him about this journal as opposed to everything else in the library was that every other book had a title clearly stamped along the spine. Not only did this journal have no title on the spine, it had no title at all. Robin was no detective, but if he had to guess what a book containing specific, confidential information looked like, it would be a lot like this. He cracked it open and was not disappointed.

It was divided into nine, distinct, hefty sections, each one describing in excruciating detail a different major battle in the Valmese War. Unlike most of the other records he’d perused, this was handwritten, leading Robin to believe that perhaps it was a personal log at some point, although he had no idea who would feel the need to record every single movement in these battles down to such minute detail. It obviously wasn’t intended to be an official record, not when it was written in such _atrocious_ handwriting. Robin was still able to read it clearly, however, being used to deciphering his own slanting chicken scratch.

Section six was divided into two subsections, detailing an outrageous plan to divide the tattered Feroxi and Ylissean forces into two groups to distract one of Valm’s head generals and defeat the other. Robin was highly impressed that Ylisse had made such a bold move—he never knew that it had such creative, if reckless, tacticians. The author of the journal appeared to have been a member of the larger force, taking on a general named Yen ’Fey, as that was the battle recorded in the first subsection and with much greater detail. They succeeded with their risky strategy, apparently, felling Yen’ Fey and bringing them much closer to defeating Valm altogether.

The second subsection, however, told a much less triumphant story. The smaller, decoy force was sent to face Valm’s leader himself, and it was led by…………... gods above, _the West-Kahn of Regna Ferox?!?!?!_ He had to re-read it a few times to make sure he read it right. They sent _Kahn Basilio,_ one of the most politically powerful people on the planet, to lead a _decoy troop????_ A _suicide mission????_ What kind of _absolute moron_ thought that that was even a _remotely_ good idea?

And the results spoke for themselves, because apparently Kahn Basilio died in that battle. The journal mentioned something about him being one of the only men ever to have survived more than one strike from Walhart, but Robin honestly didn’t care about that. Ylisse had gone and _killed_ the West-Kahn. Knowingly and deliberately. It was ridiculous, completely outrageous! What idiots would ever do such a thing?! Who okayed that decision?! Why couldn’t they think up another plan?!

Why did Robin care so much?

He heard footsteps, setting him on high alert. He shoved the journal in his satchel and flattened himself against the bookcase, peeking his head around the corner to peer at the staircase. The figure of a tall young man appeared, wearing a large floppy hat and spectacles. His brow was deeply furrowed as he hurried down the stairs to the sixth-floor landing. He cupped his hands around his mouth and called, “Laurent! Where did you run off to? Mother will be terribly cross with me if she learns I misplaced you!”

So he was looking for a sibling. Likely younger if he’s in charge of looking after him. Okay, so all Robin had to do was wait for him to move out of the staircase’s line of sight and then he could sneak over there and slip out undetect—

A small tug on his coat pulled him out of his thoughts. He looked down to find a very young, dark-haired child fiddling with the hem of his cloak. A spear of panic shot through him. _‘Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit this is the kid this **definitely** the kid I am so so **so** fucked.’_

He tugged again and looked up at Robin curiously. At least he seemed to be a quiet child. Maybe he could get out of this afterall. He leaned down and took the young boy’s hand that was clutching his cloak. He whispered as quietly as he could, “Hey now, that’s mine. Why don’t you let that go?” He gently began to pry the boy’s fingers open.

He didn’t seem distressed like Robin feared he might be when he tried to take his coat back, just curious. He managed to make the boy fully release it without a fuss. He smiled down at him and patted his head. “Thank you,” he whispered.

That was a huge mistake, because the boy beamed at him and gurgled happily, and quite _loudly. ‘Oh no shit shit shit please have him not hear that please don’t notice please—’_

“Laurent? Was that you? Where are you hiding?”

Robin frantically tried to hush the boy, but he only giggled louder. He could hear the footsteps heading straight towards them. He began to back away, but the child grabbed on to his coat again with a happy little squeal.

“Oh no no no no no please let go _please,”_ he pleaded, gently tugging his coat away from the boy. He only tugged back harder. He really _really_ didn’t want to be an asshole to a kid, especially not a _toddler_ for the gods’ sakes, but the footsteps were getting closer and he could begin to see that ridiculous floppy hat poke around the bookcase and he was running out of time and options and so he yanked the coat out of the kid’s hands and booked it for the stairs. He heard the young man yell something but by then he was already dashing down the stairs and he couldn’t have cared less what it was.

He burst out of the Record Hall and attempted to act natural as he walked back to where he set up camp in the woods outside of town. He could finish looking over the journal after he moved his campsite. He panted, out of breath.

He sighed. Robin really needed to get better at running.


	5. Two Stories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featuring: my poorly executed attempt at action.
> 
> Enjoy! Please let my know what you think down in the comments!

In the following weeks, Robin poured over the journal he had accidentally stolen, analyzing it front to back. No major information stood out to him (other than the mention of Kahn Basilio’s death)—it really just seemed to be a personal play-by-play of a few battles. Nothing to write home about. So, against his better judgement, he snuck into the restricted section of the Ylissean Record Hall a few more times and grabbed some other books that seemed relevant. Two of them were also hand-written journals, all scrawled in the same, sloppy, illegible handwriting.

One of the journals contained an outline of some of the most _outlandish_ battle strategies Robin had ever heard of. Seriously, some of them were absolutely ridiculous! Setting an entire fleet of your own ships on fire? Purposely cornering yourself on top of an active volcano? It was ludicrous! And the worst part about it all, was that they seemed to _work._ No where in any of the journals he’d taken did it mention anything about these schemes not succeeding. In fact, in some of the more official-looking documents, they lauded the genius of the Ylissean tactician.

Robin decided that they were an absolute madman with a frightening streak of good luck. Or perhaps they were just an idiot that had fooled everyone around them into believing they weren’t. He came to the conclusion that the journals were likely their personal logs, as no one other than a tactician would ever need to keep a personal record of such things. Nonetheless, they were an intriguing character, so he did a little more digging and found something even _more_ intriguing: their name and whereabouts were completely unknown. Apparently, they vanished not long after the end of the Valmese War. Robin loved a good mystery, and he had a few _strongly_ worded questions to ask the fellow (or lady, he didn’t want to assume), so he decided that his next order of business would be finding this mystery tactician. It would do him a bit of good to have a clear-cut goal in his search for answers. And in addition, they appeared to be a skilled and ingenuitive mage: if anyone could figure out how Robin lost his memories, and subsequently, a way to get them back, it was probably them.

Before he could get to any of that, however, he decided he would need a disguise. Er, a non-magical one, that is. He had been going into town far too often and breaking far too many rules to carry on with his face revealed. Yes, he had his concealment charms, but those didn’t do much to actually _hide_ his appearance, they just made people less inclined to look. And pulling his hood up could only achieve so much. So, he traveled a comfortable number of towns away from the Record Hall and set out to purchase a mask.

The village he arrived in was small, dingy, and cramped. The houses and stores were modest at best, and decrepit at worst. The pitifully paved cobblestone roads cracked and crumbled underfoot as he wandered around, searching for a market of some kind. Eventually, he found his way into a “nicer” part of town where the buildings weren’t so dilapidated, where far more people were. He got a few odd looks, but the concealment charm made quick work of those. This town likely didn’t get a lot of visitors.

Unfortunately, the market he managed to find was very barebones and sold mostly just essentials: food, clothes, firewood, some medicines. No where he could find any masks. He decided that this town was a bust, so he made his way out of the nicer district and into another slum-like area on the outskirts, fully intending to keep walking until he found a more… affluent village. As he treaded through the crumbling cobblestone, he could feel eyes watching him, though he didn’t see anybody. They felt hostile and aggressive. He grabbed the hilt of his sword still concealed inside his coat. Just in case.

He shifted his gaze back and forth down the alleyways on either side of him, but he was met with only darkness. The tension in his shoulders eased a little. Maybe it was just his imagination. He had been paranoid since he’d lost his memories, and while the concealment charm worked better when in crowds, it was still somewhat effective. He let out a breath. He was just on edge. Yeah. He was fine.

He didn’t let go of his sword, though.

He heard something off to the side. He spun around, drawing his sword. Only to lower it immediately after once he saw the rat scurrying by. He blinked. He put his sword away, embarrassed and slightly irritated with himself. _‘Get ahold of yourself, Robin. It’s not like zombies are going to rise out of the ground and eat you.’_ He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair.

As he looked up from the ground where the rat had been, he found something surprising. There was a costume shop. Old and rundown looking, but a costume shop, nonetheless. And it actually looked like it might be open. There were lights in the windows, at least, so that was something. He decided to try the door, which swung open easily. He stepped into the store, peering around to see if anyone was there. “Hello?” he called. 

No one answered, so he walked a bit further inside. The outfits hanging on the racks seemed to be of surprisingly high quality as he ran his hand over a decorative cape, feeling the smooth silk pass over his fingers. Not that he really knew anything about fashion or cloth quality, but it felt rather fine. He found it odd that there was a shop like this in the middle of these shady slums in this shady town, but who was he to judge their business practices?

He stumbled across a rack of masquerade-esque masks as he wandered near the back of the store. _‘Perfect.’_ Except it wasn’t actually perfect because they were _masquerade_ masks, which were large, elaborate, flashy, and _expensive._ He thumbed through the rack for one that wasn’t covered in feathers, glitter, or colorful paint, and wouldn’t completely drain his coinpurse.

Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of black. He dug around and pulled out a small, simple, black eye mask with slightly upturned and pointed tips, reminiscent of an eagle or maybe even a butterfly. Robin was filled with… a strange sense of familiarity. As though he had seen that mask before, or at least one like it. However, no matter how hard he tried to grasp onto that feeling and trace it back to a memory, all he was left with was a hazy, dry-tongued sort of sensation and the beginnings of a headache edging at his temples. Dammit. That had to mean _something._ Maybe if he bought it then eventually he could come to remember. It wasn’t a bad price either, being far less extravagant than the rest of the selection, and it suited his needs quite well. If only he could find the clerk.

He poked his head around a corner that seemed to lead to a back room of sorts. “Is anybody there?”

He heard a concerning _crash_ and some rustling, before a wiry, gray-haired man emerged from the back. His eyes were wide and glassy behind thick-rimmed glasses, surprised. “Oh, oh! A customer! Terribly sorry, I’ve just been, ah, working on something. What can I help you with?”

Robin held up the mask. “I’d like to purchase this, if you don’t mind the interruption.”

“Oh no, no, no, not at all! This _is_ a store, after all! I’d be happy to check you out.” The old man fluttered about to the front of the store, Robin following behind. The old man slipped behind the counter and took the mask out of his hands. “Going to a masquerade, eh?”

“Something like that.” Robin produced a few gold coins from his coinpurse, which he exchanged for the mask. 

The old man smiled brightly. “Well have fun! Those can get pretty wild, hehehe! Thank you for your purchase!”

Robin gave him a smile in return. “You’re welcome. And thank you as well. Have a good day, sir.”

“You too!” The man waved enthusiastically as Robin exited the shop. He smiled a little to himself. He was certainly an eccentric character, but quite pleasant. Robin fastened the mask onto his face, pulling his hood back up. He didn’t feel quite so tense anymore as he walked down the street to the edge of town. _‘Maybe there really is nothing to worry about. Maybe going into town today wasn’t such a bad idea after—’_

**_“AAAAAAAHHHH!!!!”_ **

A blood-curdling shriek filled the air. Robin jumped and immediately sped toward the source of the sound, his sword drawn. The scream led him back into the heart of the town where a young woman was being attacked by… gods, what _was_ that thing?! Some sort of red-eyed, decaying, vaguely humanoid _creature._ He’d never seen anything like it before in his life. He ducked around a corner and plastered himself to the wall, heart pounding in fear. He _wanted_ to help, but he’d only ever really dealt with a bandit or two before! Never whatever _that_ was! He was a decent mage and swordsman, but _what the fuck was **that?!?!?!**_ But he couldn’t just not do anything! She’d die! The town would—what was he going to do?!?!

He winced at the sound of blade sinking into flesh. _‘Oh gods what have I done I could have helped her I could have **saved** her I—’_

“THE VAIKE HAS ARRIVED!!!!”

Robin blinked. What? He tentatively peeked his head around the corner to find the woman completely unscathed, and a muscular, shirtless, blond, axe-wielding man standing over the decapitated corpse of the monster, which promptly vanished in a puff of purple smoke. The man (Vaike?) turned to the woman. “You okay lady? Better get outta here. More of ‘em are on their way. Scram!” The woman thanked him profusely and scurried away.

Robin breathed out a sigh of relief. At least she was okay, and there was someone to handle the situation. The town guards would certainly be there soon as well, so he didn’t feel too bad when he began to inch his way back down the alley.

True to what Vaike said, three more of those monsters appeared seemingly from out of nowhere. He was ready though, and with a roaring battle cry he swung his axe. It lopped off one’s head and imbedded itself in another’s shoulder. It let out an inhuman shriek as he planted his foot on its chest and wrenched the axe free. Another roar. Another head thunking on the ground.

Just as Robin was about to high tail it out of there, he saw another monster materialize right behind Vaike. It raised its axe high over its head and…

 _‘Fuck it.’_ “Behind you!” Robin whipped out his tome and blasted it with a bolt of thoron. The creature spasmed before toppling to the ground in a mangled heap of charred flesh. Vaike spun around, eyes wide. But there was no time for thanks. Another monster swung at his feet, knocking him to the ground. Robin rushed forward and sent off a few more blasts, paralyzing it. Vaike sprang up and finished it.

Another hoard appeared. Vaike charged into the throng. Heads and arms splattered to the ground. Robin fired thorons in quicker succession that he ever remembered being able to, dodging the monsters’ swings. “Four o’clock, incoming!”

Vaike blocked the oncoming axe just in time. Forced it away. A roar. His own axe finding a mark in its chest. “Three more behind you!”

Robin supercharged a crackling blast. Two incinerated. Whipped out his sword. A squelch as it found its heart. Spun back around. Another blast. More heads. More shouting.

“Left!”

“Two on the right!”

“Six o’clock!”

“Five behind you!”

“Dodge!”

They ended up with their backs to each other. Firing off thorons one after the other. Barely could see his axe flying through the air. _Crackle. Thunk. Boom. Squelch. Sizzle._

After what felt like hours of fighting, Vaike finished off the last one with an axe to its chest. It let out a gasping breath before disintegrating into a pile of dust. Robin heaved and panted, wiping the sweat from his forehead. He tucked his sword and tome back into his coat once he caught his breath. “Thank the gods that’s over.”

Vaike nodded in agreement, sheathing his axe. “Yeah. Why some of those risen bastards are still wandering around beats me, but at least those ones are gone.”

Risen? Was that what those things were called? Robin didn’t remember anything like that being in Ylisse, but to be fair he also didn’t remember being able to fight like that. Or a lot of other things. He didn’t feel up to asking any more questions about it.

Vaike grinned at him. “Thanks for having my back there, man. I’d be risen chow by now if it weren’t for you.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Robin sucked in a few more desperate breaths. “Happy to help. And it was mostly you, anyway.”

“Hell no, man! You were crazy out there flinging that magic-y lightning stuff everywhere!” He smirked. “You might be beat, but lemme tell ya, the Vaike doesn’t know a whole lotta guys that can fight like that. Do you wanna spar sometime?!”

“Oh, um… thank you, but I was just passing through and I should really be on my way and all…” He seemed like a cool guy, but Robin really couldn’t afford to stay any longer. He had a tactician to find. And some newfound fighting prowess to make sense of.

Vaike’s face fell a little. “Really? Not even for the Vaike? I guess you must be pretty busy.” He scratched the side of his head. “Oh! You actually kinda remind me of this good buddy I used to have! Real good at the magic stuff. And kind of a stick in the mud.” He laughed to himself a little. “Damn, good times. Good guy.”

“Um… thanks?” Was that supposed to be a compliment? “But I really do have to get going. Nice meeting you, Vaike.”

“Good to meet you too. Wait—how do you know my name?!”

Robin rolled his eyes and shook his head, a smirk playing at his lips. He certainly wasn’t the sharpest tack in the box, but he was certainly amusing. He managed to escape the town without any further altercations. Now that he had his mask, he could really focus on getting some answers.

* * *

Vaike sat at his dining room table, shoveling giant helpings of bacon and eggs into his mouth. His eyes suddenly widened, and he dropped his fork with a clatter, his mouth stuffed with food. He shot up, his chair squealing.

**_“THAT WAS ROBIN!!!!”_ **


	6. The Hero and the King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter! Sorry for the long wait! I hope you enjoy! Please let me know what you think down in the comments.
> 
> ****Important Note***** I just now realized that I accidentally COMPLETELY skipped the first half of Henry's introduction in the second chapter, so I fixed it and it probably makes a whole lot more sense now! So if you want you can go back and re-read the revised version, which is the way it was SUPPOSED to be originally. So sorry!!

In order to hunt down this mystery tactician, Robin needed to first find out where they were last seen. Unfortunately, no one seemed to have _any_ idea where that was. But being the Ylissean army’s tactician and having disappeared shortly after the end of the conflict in Valm, he figured that heading to Valm wouldn’t be a bad start. Even more unfortunately, he was still in the heart of Ylisse, so it would take him _quite_ some time to get there. In order to expedite his travel, he made the risky choice to forgo his rule of travelling by forest (though it really wasn’t that much riskier considering how there were apparently undead monsters roaming around now—the woods didn’t seem like the safest option). So he started on the long trek all the way out of Ylisse and to the nearest trans-continental Feroxi port (his current location being much closer to Ferox than Plegia).

Even though the forest wasn’t safe, that didn’t make traveling into town any less dangerous (just in a less eat-your-brains kind of way). So Robin opted to stick mainly to the slums and alleys, staying near the outskirts if he could. Slums definitely held the risk of him getting mugged, but with his newfound combat skills that was a risk he was willing to take. Though it wasn’t always faster to travel that way, and he was forced to move through the more populated areas of towns.

This was one of those times.

Robin found himself in a rather large Ylissean city—not quite in the center of the haildom, but not all that close to the boarder either. Though it may have been far too large for traveling via slum to be an effective strategy, its size did have some benefits: there were so many large crowds to blend into that he highly doubted anyone would notice him. On a less tactical note, it was also a gorgeous city. Parks, extravagant homes, tall alabaster-white buildings. Had he not been in such a rush, he would have stopped to admire it.

It was an obviously very affluent city. Women in petticoated silk skirts and tall hats sat in cafés, gossiping and laughing loudly. Men with capes and cravats hurried up and down the streets carrying all manner of official-looking documents and heavy texts. Ornate carriages pulled by even more ornately decorated stallions filled the streets at every turn. Gold flowed from hand to hand in the marketplace he passed like a running river, constantly moving and changing and pouring every which way. The air rang with the sounds of laughter, clopping hooves, and enthused chatter. The whole place smelled of money. While the extravagance may have seemed a bit pretentious, Robin found he quite enjoyed the hustle and bustle of the big city. He had to remind himself not to loiter and window shop. Though that didn’t stop him from looking as he walked by.

He passed by a large outdoor theater on his way. Surprisingly, there seemed to be no admission fee. He would have thought that a city with such wealthy citizens would make events such as that ungodsly expensive. Though he supposed that a wealthy city could afford more free public events. There was a show going on right then, actually. For some reason, Robin felt a strange urge to go check it out, if only for a little bit. It was odd. He couldn’t recall ever being particularly interested in theater. But even so, he still felt a strange pull towards it.

He decided that it couldn’t hurt _too_ much to go watch for a short while, even if he didn’t stay long. And really, what were the chances that he’d be recognized and arrested in the middle of a crowded theater? It wasn’t like he would run into the Exalt. So he descended the steps, found an unoccupied seat near the back, and sank down, grateful for the rest and for the opportunity to take his mind off of things.

* * *

Chrom was antsy. No matter how much Sumia tried to get him to stop fidgeting in his seat, he just couldn’t seem to sit still. She practically had to _drag_ him to this theater, though it was his decision to get out of Ylisstol for a while. He’d been so wound up lately and he needed some sort of outlet—some way to relieve a bit of the stress from the mountains of paperwork and the… interesting recent development.

“They _saw_ him, Sumia, I know it! If it had just been Vaike, then maybe I could see it being a fluke or a misunderstanding, but Henry and Tharja reported him in Plegia _weeks_ ago! And Frederick saw him! _Frederick!”_

“To be fair, love, Frederick said he _thought_ he saw him. And I’d hate to get all my hopes up and have it turn out to be wrong.” Sumia sighed wistfully. “And there’s not anything we can do about it right now, so please try to relax.” She pinned him with a sad, pleading look. “You’ve been beating yourself up about this ever since Henry’s report came in. I’m worried about you.”

Chrom raised an eyebrow. “That’s awfully cynical of you. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk like that before.”

“I just… I’m trying not to get too excited again. Remember two years ago? Nowi and Ricken thought they saw him and everyone got all in a tizzy and I had a whole welcome back party planned and it turned out to just be a random merchant with white hair?”

He nodded gravely, remembering. “I know, I just… I can _feel_ it this time, I know it’s him! We’re _so close_ to having him back I just know it.”

“I mean no disrespect, Father, but didn’t you say that last time?” Lucina chimed in. “We just don’t want you to get your hopes up too much, not until there’s more information,” she explained.

“Lucina’s right.” Cynthia gently placed a hand on his arm. “You were so sad last time. And you know that we want him back just as much as everybody else—Mother and I have been reading our flower fortunes almost every day to see when he’ll come back!”

Sumia nodded. She took his hand in hers and laced their fingers together. Her voice was soft and caring. “I know that none of us were as close to him as you were, but we miss him too. And we’re not completely disregarding the possibility. We’re sending out more search parties, putting up more posters—that’s really all we can do. So please, just try to relax for a little while. Spend some time with your family.”

Little Lucina squealed in agreement from her place in Sumia’s lap. “Stay, Dada!” Sumia hushed her gently, reminding her to keep her voice down. “Sorry Mama,” she said, quieter.

Chrom looked down at little Lucy (they’d opted to call her that in order to make the whole ‘two Lucinas’ thing less confusing). He smiled bittersweetly, seeing her wide, happy eyes. He _had_ been neglecting his family. He’d just been so consumed with finding Robin lately that anything else had just slipped right out of his mind. He sighed. “You’re right, Sumia, of course you’re right. I’ll try.” Lucy reached out for him, so he picked her up and made a funny face, making her giggle. There was nothing he could do about it now. It wasn’t like he was going to just look over his shoulder and find him. So he settled into his seat and tried to enjoy the show with his family.

* * *

Robin found himself staying at the theater for much longer than he intended. The performance was quite good, and the story was engaging. It was a nice respite from all the hiding and running he’d been doing. He really didn’t want to leave before the end of the show, but he figured that he should probably get going. He stretched his arms out and glanced around idly, scanning the crowd a bit before he left.

As he looked around, his eyes and heart stopped when he spotted a mop of dark blue hair a few aisles over. He willed himself to calm down. _‘Come on, Robin. What are the chances that the Exalt of Ylisse, the very man who wants you thrown in prison for some reason, is sitting **right there** barely thirty feet away. It’s just not plausible.’ _But the mop of hair turned just then, giving Robin a partial view of the chiseled face of Prince Chrom himself. Okay, now he could panic.

But it was still alright, because he hadn’t seen him yet. He could still slip away quietly and _get the hell out of there._ He stood up, politely squeezing past the people seated next to him. He could see out of the corner of his eye Prince Chrom get up and head towards the exit as well. _‘Oh gods oh gods oh gods don’t see me **please** don’t see me.’ _He pulled his hood further down over his face. He was _so screwed._

* * *

Chrom leaned over to whisper in Sumia’s ear. “I’m gonna step out for a minute. Need to stretch my legs.”

“Okay. Just be back soon. It’s almost over.” She took Lucy, who was sound asleep by now, and set her in her lap.

He gave her a peck on the cheek and got up, heading outside the theater’s parameters. He stood by some bushes by the entrance, stretching out his arms and legs. As welcome as the respite with his family was, he just couldn’t stop thinking about Robin. Frederick said he ran away when he saw him; he couldn’t get the image of him lost—scared, alone, confused—out of his head. What if he needed them? What if he couldn’t find his way back? He took a deep breath and sighed. He needed to stop thinking about it. Nothing was going to get done just by worrying.

He noticed out of the corner of his eye another man exiting the theater area, clad in a simple cloak. It concerned Chrom that he seemed quite anxious, hurrying away from the rows of seating and holding his coat tightly against his frame. He didn’t think he saw him, but he was well within earshot. Chrom, being the helpful and good-natured man he was, called out to him. “Is everything alright there, friend?” He cracked a small smile. “Is the show not to your liking?”

The man whipped around, revealing that his face was concealed by a mask. How curious. Though his eyes were hidden, for a moment Chrom swore he saw a flash of panic cross the man’s face. However, if it was there at all, he composed himself quickly. Though the slight waver in his voice gave him away. “Oh, um, it’s nothing just, uh, places to be is all.” He spoke quite quickly, in an almost clipped but still vaguely friendly tone.

Chrom nodded in understanding. “I hear you there. My wife thought it’d be nice to drag me away from my work for a little while; I’ve been pretty swamped lately.” He raised a curious eyebrow. “But you seem anxious. What’s troubling you? I’d be happy to lend an ear.”

The man stood stricken for a moment. It was difficult to read his emotions with that mask on, but Chrom thought he looked absolutely terrified. Being met with only silence, he wondered what it was about his offer that could have possibly paralyzed him so.

Just as he was about to ask if he was alright again, the man coughed into his fist. “Sorry, just, um… a lot on my mind.”

Wow. Whatever he was thinking about must have been pretty awful of it had the ability to make him freeze like that in the middle of a conversation. His heart went out to him. It wasn’t like he couldn’t relate. “I _definitely_ understand that, friend. I’ve had quite the problem lately as well, and I just can’t seem to stop thinking about it no matter how hard I try.”

He thought he heard the man swallow. “And what would that be…?”

Chrom sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. He crossed his arms over his chest, staring thoughtfully off into the distance. “I’ve been… Looking for someone. Someone very important, and for a very long time now. However, no matter how many people claim to see him, he still manages to slip through my fingers any time I think I’m getting close.”

“That, uh… must be very frustrating.”

He nodded gravely. “It is. And it’s imperative that I find him as soon as possible, so he can be put back where he belongs.” The man didn’t respond, so he went on. “Lately there have been more reports of sightings, and it’s driving me crazy. Every time I hear of a new report, I send people there _immediately_ and _every damn time_ he’s gone. Vanished, as though he was never there in the first place. It makes me wonder if any of the reports are actually true.” His gaze hardened, conviction filling his voice. “But I know he’s out there. I can feel it. And I _will_ find him. No matter how long it takes and no matter if I have to comb through every city, lake, desert, and forest in all of Ylisse, Plegia, Ferox, Valm, and then some. I’ll find a way.” He turned to look back at the man to find that he’d broken out into a sweat. His brow furrowed in concern. "Are you okay? You look a little pale.”

“Yes! Um, I…” He coughed. “I’m just, uh, I’m… afraid I’m not feeling too well. I really should be going now.”

He turned sharply on his heel to leave, but Chrom stopped him. “Really? Do you want me to go get a healer?”

“No, no, no, thank you, but I’d hate to be an inconvenience—”

“Nonsense, it’s no trouble at all. My wife has some experience with staves; why don’t you wait here and I’ll go get her.”

“Noooooooooooo, really that won’t be necessary.” He flashed Chrom a strained grin. “Thank you for the offer, but I really think I should just go home.”

Chrom smiled back in understanding. “If you wish. And…” He took a step forward and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you for listening to me. I know you don’t know me, but I appreciate it.”

The man tentatively removed his hand from his shoulder, his smile shaky. “Yes, well, um, you’re welcome. Goodbye now.” He turned and stared to walk off briskly.

“Goodbye, safe travels” Chrom called after him. If he heard, he made no indication. What a strange man. He seemed nice though. He really hoped he felt better later. He really appreciated getting all that off his chest. He smiled to himself, turning back into the theater to rejoin his family.

* * *

Robin’s heart was pounding so hard he was certain he was going to crack a rib. He swore he’d never been so terrified in his _life._ He thanked every god out there that the Exalt hadn’t recognized him. Gods, it sounded like he wanted him _dead._ Or at least thrown in prison for the rest of his life. He needed to be more careful. He couldn’t afford any more momentary lapses in judgement.

He needed to stay focused. Sure, the mask had saved him this time, but who knew whether it would again…


	7. Incursion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is just a liiiiiiittle bit shorter than normal, but the next chapter is a little bit longer than normal, so it's a trade off. Enjoy! Please let me know what you think in the comments!
> 
> P.S. Yes I'm going to be giving some characters last names. I just find it kind of weird that the nobles don't have them. Don't kill me.

You know, sometimes Robin really thought he ought to spend some more time thinking over what exactly he could have _possibly_ done to incur such wrath from the Ylissean justice system.

Maybe then he would have a _single fucking clue_ as to why he was being chased through the center of a Ylissean city by the screeching human embodiment of pure, unfiltered rage mounted atop a frothing beast that was probably supposed to be a horse, but sure looked a hell of a lot like a demon to him.

 _“GET THE HELL BACK HERE YOU SLIPPERY, SCRAWNY SON OF A BITCH!!!!!”_ The hellish creature roared as her demon horse barreled through yet another innocent vegetable cart in her pursuit to skewer Robin with her spear like a suckling pig, paying no mind to the shrieking crowd of civilians. He never thought that a horse could be carnivorous, but the monster who’s teeth he could feel nipping at the hood of his coat clearly wanted to roast him over an open flame with an apple stuffed in his mouth and devour his carcass with a side of gravy.

Fortunately for Robin, all the running he’d been doing lately had drastically increased his stamina. Unfortunately, it still wasn’t enough for him to safely outrun a _rabid fucking horse._ And the crazed, wild look in its master’s eyes didn’t completely rule out the possibility of her being feral as well. At least Sir Frederick had been on foot, but even then he’d barely managed to evade capture, and that was really only due to his usage of underhanded tactics. Now, he’d consider himself lucky if he made it out of this city with his _life._ There was no hope of hiding from that thing—his only hope was to _pray_ and _run._

He heaved another barrel of produce into the raging beast’s path, but to his horror it did nothing to slow it—trampling the wood and vegetables into a mixture of splinters and paste without faltering even slightly in its charge. He was going to die he was going to die he was going to die, _fuck._ Well, he had no real possessions to speak of besides his cloak and his weapons, so at least he didn’t have to worry about not having a will. Goodbye cruel world, it’s been terrible, thanks for playing.

Of course he recognized the red-headed woman currently inches away from running him through and parading his head on a pike as a trophy—she was Sir Sully Byrne, a noblewoman from the knightly Ylissean House Byrne. But more notably, she was a member of Prince Chrom’s personal group of attack dogs, the Shepherds. According to rumor, she was a ruthless, unrelenting, bloodthirsty brute. And if the tales of her feats and exploits were to be believed, Robin would be dead by noon.

“Don’t you think you should calm down a little, Sully?! I think you’re scaring him!”

Robin finally noticed the green-clad paladin behind his main assailant, his own mount obviously struggling some to keep up with the savage pace set by the surely demonic hell-beast in front of him. He didn’t recognize him, but that mattered very little as even more dread settled in his stomach at the realization that he would have to shake off _two_ elite Shepherds today. _‘Just my fucking luck.’_

_“HE DAMN WELL **BETTER** BE SCARED!!! THE SLIPPERY BASTARD’S GOTTEN AWAY FROM US FOR THE LAST TIME!!!! THIS WILD GOOSE CHASE ENDS **NOW!!!!** AFTER ALL THE SHIT HE’S PUT US THROUGH, WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON HIM I’M GONNA **KILL HIM!!!!!!”**_

Robin swallowed thickly, sweat pouring down his face in buckets and his heart hammering against his ribcage from equal parts exertion and terror. Oh gods there was no way out of this, was there? He was going to die here, alone and hunted down like an animal, his search for his memories left unfinished. But even despite the hopelessness of the situation, he could not allow himself to give up. He was a _tactician_ for gods’ sakes (or, well, an amateur one), there had to be _something_ he could think up to get him out of this mess.

And that’s when he spotted it, his salvation: a low-hanging clothesline held between two buildings. The cord looked plenty thick enough to hold a decent amount of weight, especially if it was just for a second. There may have been no way for him to outrun the knights’ steeds, but he could certainly _outmaneuver_ them. And so with a burst of hope-fueled energy, he sprinted as fast as he could and launched himself into the air, gripping the clothesline in his fists as he used the momentum to swing himself up, planting his feet on the roof of one of the buildings. He hoisted himself fully on top of the roof and bolted, sparing just a single fleeting glance to see the shocked expressions on the knights’ faces.

He allowed a small bubble of triumph to rise in his chest, but he wasn’t out of the woods yet. Now that Sir Sully’s horse wasn’t breathing directly down his neck, he could focus on actually getting them off of his trail. He hopped from rooftop to rooftop, each successful leap causing the red and green knights below to fade further away into merely swatches of color in the distance. He thanked the gods for whatever athletics training he had done during the big black hole in his memory that allowed for him to accomplish such a feat.

He sprinted and jumped until his joints acted sharply from the continuous impacts and his lungs burned from lack of proper oxygen intake. He was close enough to the edge of town that he allowed himself a brief moment to breathe, gasping and panting desperately with his hands on his knees as the world swam around him. His stomach churned painfully, and he had to resist the urge to vomit. _Fuck,_ never in his life did he think he’d ever have to outrun a _horse._ Honestly, if he didn’t feel quite so much like death, he would’ve given himself a mental pat on the back for managing it so well. He didn’t know many guys who could evade a horse like that. But, then again, he also didn’t know many guys who had a bounty on their head by order of the Exalt, so perhaps the definitely-going-to-die-if-you-get-caught factor greatly contributed to his performance. That’d certainly explain why he felt so much like passing out now, every breath making his sides burn as though there were hot coals being pressed to his ribs.

Once the desire to empty his stomach all over the street below disappointed, he gathered his bearing once again and surveyed the area. It appeared to be the very edge of town, the surrounding forests not too far off. The buildings here were few and far in between, so he’d have to abandon his acrobat tactic, unfortunately. He was apprehensive about returning to solid ground, where he’d be completely vulnerable to the charging stampede of the two knights chasing him, but they were nowhere to be seen. Not even the stamping of hooves could be heard anymore. He breathed out a relieved sigh and dropped down into the alley below.

Despite the knights being out of sight, he couldn’t afford to let his guard down or dawdle any. So he broke out into a sprint as he exited the alley and made a mad dash for the woods in the distance. However, he soon found himself flat on his ass as he collided with an invisible wall that was as hard as steel. The impact sent his head swimming again, his ears ringing and nausea once again curdling in his stomach. He groaned pitifully and gripped his head, desperately willing his vision to return to him.

A surprised gasp sounded from above him. “Oh my gods, I actually did it! I caught him!”

Robin blinked and raised his head towards the voice, the spots in his vision slowly fading to reveal a hulking mass of armor, a closed-eyed round-faced man encased inside of it. His words finally registered in Robin’s brain, and all the blood drained from his face. _‘Another Shepherd!!!!’_ He leapt up to his feet as fast as he could (which, albeit wasn’t that fast considering he was still quite disoriented) and turned to run in the opposite direction

Before he could get very far, though, the man grabbed him by his underarms, practically hoisting him into the air, rendering him completely immobilized. “Oh no you don’t! You’re not getting away this time! You’re coming with me!”

Robin’s heartrate spiked as he began to panic. _‘Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck what am I gonna do there’s nowhere to run nowhere to hide I’m done for.’_ So he did the only thing he could do; he thrashed and squirmed and yelled and did everything in his power to loosen the man’s hold on him.

Unfortunately, his grip was just as iron-clad as he was, but Robin still managed to throw him off balance a little, causing him to hunch and turn around in order to keep ahold of him. “Whoa! Seriously, what has gotten into you? Calm down!”

Calm down? _Calm down??????_ Why the _fuck_ would he calm down in this situation?????? But wait. A lightbulb went off in his head as he realized that with all his shifting, they were now facing the direction of the forest. He twisted his hands around so that his palms were pressed up against the man’s armor. A twinge of guilt pierced his heart as he realized what he needed to do to escape, causing him to say, “Sorry, sir. Please don’t take this personally.”

“Wha—”

Robin sent a surge of lightening out through his palms, making the man let out a startled, pained yell and launching Robin forward. He rolled to his feet and bolted for the woods, not bothering to look back at the man. He certainly hoped he was okay; he didn’t make the blast too powerful, so he should be fine after a quick vulnery or a trip to a healer. But he really didn’t have the time for sympathy, not when he needed to run as far and as fast as he possibly could.

By the gods. Maybe one of these days he’ll finally catch a fucking break.


	8. Preseer

Robin recalled being glad when he first woke up that it wasn’t winter in Ylisse, so that he wouldn’t have to trek through the snow (gods, how long ago had that been now?). With how disoriented and sore he had been, trudging through an icy tundra would have been hellish. But apparently, even _without_ being confused and stiff (though he was still sore from all the running he had down the day before), trying to travel through snow was no easy task. Or perhaps that was just because he was in the middle of a blizzard. Yeah, maybe that was it.

It wasn’t surprising when the snowstorm hit, him being right along the boarder of Ylisse and Regna Ferox at this point, though with the thick, opaque sheet of white obscuring his vision and the howling winds bombarding his ears, he really couldn’t be certain about _anything_ regarding his location. His quest for information had to be put on hold for the time being in favor of finding some shelter—it would do him no good to die out here of frostbite or hypothermia. Even with all the charms and enchantments on his coat, he was still frozen to the bone, the glacial winds violently whipping around him offering no remorse.

Fuck, there was just no end to it, was there? Of course, it was just his luck that he would get caught in a _massive blizzard_ only a day after narrowly evading capture from those Shepherds, leaving him to brave the storm in his haggard state. Honestly, he didn’t know how much longer he could hold out. His face and hands were entirely numb, with his feet following their example closely behind. Each step forward through the mountain of snow piled atop every last inch of the ground drained him of more energy than he had available, his legs growing to feel as heavy as lead blocks and his muscles screaming from over-exertion. His vision was beginning to swim, the onslaught of snow taking on a wavy sort of quality.

His feet collided with a rock buried in the snow, sending him sprawling out onto the ground, face buried in the thick frozen blanket. He groaned in pain. He tried to lift himself back up, but his arms and legs just wouldn’t listen to him, his body too depleted of energy to do much else than twitch a little and lie in the snow. _‘Fuck, no no no no not like this, please just **move.’**_ But he couldn’t, no matter how hard he tried. It felt like ice had crystalized in his blood, weighing him down and paralyzing him. The sound of the wind in his ears was slowly beginning to grow fainter as his thoughts became less coherent, his eyelids drooping. And suddenly he wasn’t so concerned about falling asleep in the snow. In fact, he didn’t even remember why he had been so terrified in the first place. He was so tired. And then his whole world faded to black.

* * *

The sound of a crackling fire invaded the darkness, accompanied by a warm, inviting smell. Was that soup? Whatever it was, it smelled delicious. Robin slowly cracked his eyes open, blinking in the unfamiliar light. He groaned at the splitting pain in his head, curling in on himself and bringing his hand up to press his fingers into his temples, finding that he was now wearing gloves. He also realized that he was tightly wrapped up in a thick woolen blanket, and that he was half-lying down on a couch in front of a roaring fireplace, propped up with a few pillows.

Once the throbbing in his head eased enough for him to gather his bearings, he took in his surroundings a little. He was in a living room of sorts, the fireplace lighting up the room in a warm and cozy glow. There were various paintings hung up on the walls, all very high-quality, and adding to the inviting atmosphere. That _heavenly_ smell seemed to be wafting in from a room to his left, probably the kitchen. His stomach growled loudly, his mouth watering. Gods, when was the last time he’d had a real meal?

A tall, beautiful woman with long pink hair and sympathetic eyes stepped into the doorway, holding a steaming bowl. A small smile formed on her lips as her eyes met Robin’s. “Ah, so I see you’re awake. You know it isn’t very prudent of you to be walking around like that in a blizzard. You’re lucky you didn’t catch any frostbite.” She came over to him and handed him the warm bowl (stew, it was stew). “Here, eat this. It’ll help warm you up.”

He tried to speak, but his voice came out as a hoarse croak at first, causing him to wince. He coughed and tried again. “Th-thank you.” he gladly did as she said, devouring the stew with gusto. Gods, he could have _wept,_ it was so good. There was only so much rabbit and wild berries a man could eat before he started going insane, and Robin had been toeing that line _very closely_ for the past three months.

The woman chuckled. “My, you’re rather hungry, aren’t you?”

“Is our guest finally awake?” From the same room the pink-haired woman came from came… another woman? No, it was a man, a very fair man with long blond hair and a gentle-looking face. His gaze fell on Robin, and he smiled. “I’m glad to see you’re doing alright. You gave us quite a scare.” He came to sit beside the woman in a pair of chairs across from the couch Robin was laying on.

He finished his stew and shifted his gaze between the two of them, not knowing what to say. “Yes, um, thank you. Where… where am I? What happened?”

The woman chuckled again. “No need to be alarmed. This is our home. We found you passed out in the stables nearly frozen solid. Honestly, you should be thanking Minerva. If she hadn’t dragged you in there you’d probably have died of the cold by now.”

He was rather confused. He didn’t remember any stables. That and he didn’t see anybody else other than these two. “Minerva? Oh, um, if that’s the case then I would really like to thank her too. Where is she?”

“Minerva is my wife’s wyvern,” the man said. “We believe she saw you lying out in the snow and brought you into the stables to help. They’re very intelligent creatures.”

A wyvern? In Ferox? Okay, that was strange, but who was he to question the people (and giant lizard) who had just saved his life? He cleared his throat. “Oh. Well then, send her my regards.”

That seemed to please the woman, her eyes shining warmly. “Of course. Allow us to introduce ourselves. My name is Cherche, and this is my husband, Libra. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh, um, the pleasure’s all mine. You did just save my life, after all.” He chuckled, albeit a bit weakly. “I’m—” He paused. These were obviously very kind people, but he still didn’t want to run the risk of them recognizing him. He shouldn’t tell them his real name. It wasn’t like he was unaccustomed to using an alias, not when he worked so much abroad. “—Deryn.” It was a common enough name from his homeland, even if it was a bit strange to be using his old alias again. Odd. In the three months he’d been awake, no one had ever asked him for his name before.

If they noticed his brief moment of hesitation, they made no mention of it. Cherche turned to Libra. “Are all the children asleep?”

He nodded. “Yes, I just finished up putting the last few to bed. They shouldn’t cause a commotion.”

Last few of them? They looked a little young to have that many children, only appearing to be in their late twenties—possibly early thirties if he was being generous. He raised a curious eyebrow. “Oh, you have kids?”

“Oh, yes, but only two of them,” Cherche said. “This is actually an orphanage that we run here out of our home, so we have quite a few little ones running around. It’s a lot of work, but it’s worth it.” She smiled.

Oh wow. Maybe the gods were trying to make up for how cruelly luck had treated him lately—it looked like he’d struck good-person-gold when choosing where to pass out during a blizzard. He smiled back at her. “I’ll bet it is.”

“So, Deryn.” Libra’s brow furrowed in concern. “If you don’t mind my asking, what exactly were you doing traveling out in the middle of a snowstorm?”

Robin mused over what to tell them. He didn’t really see a reason to lie, and, if he was being honest, he didn’t have the energy to think up one. So he didn’t. He let out a heavy sigh. “I’m a traveler. I came to Ylisse looking for work, and now I’m headed on my way to Valm. I didn’t realize there was going to be a storm tonight, and by the time I did I was too far away from any towns to take shelter.” He gave them a grateful smile. “Thank you both, truly. I don’t know how I can possibly repay you.”

Cherche waved her hand dismissively. “There’s no need for that. We’re just glad you’re alright.” She cocked her head to the side curiously. “You’re a traveler, you say? Where are you from then?”

Once again, finding no reason to lie, he told the truth. He let out a little dry laugh. “I doubt you’ve heard of it, not many people have, but I’m from Ghenna. It’s a small archipelago of three islands off the northern coast of Valm.”

Libra offered him an apologetic smile. “Yes, I’m afraid I can’t say I recognize that name. I didn’t even realize there _were_ islands like that near Valm.”

Robin shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s not a big deal. It’s pretty small and secluded. People there prefer to keep to themselves. Not fond of outsiders.”

While Libra may have had no clue what he was talking about, Cherche’s eyes lit up in recognition. “Oh, I know Ghenna! I’m originally from Rosanne, you see. I always heard they were a bit hostile there, but I honestly can’t blame them with their unsavory past with the mainland. Your people have suffered quite a lot. I apologize.” She bowed her head.

The action made him a bit uncomfortable, but he tried not to let it show. “No worries. Most of the occupation and colonization and whatnot happened before I was born anyway.”

“Of course.” She smiled. “Do you have any family there, back in Ghenna?”

He shook his head. “No, not anymore.” A somberness came over him as he reminisced. It wasn’t a memory he liked to revisit often, but now that the topic had been broached, he was afraid there was nothing he could do to stop it. “My mother died when I was nineteen. She raised me by herself, so she was all I had.” He unconsciously pulled his cloak tighter around himself. “This coat is all I have left of her.”

They were quiet for a long moment before Libra broke the silence, voice soft and sympathetic. “I’m terribly sorry for your loss. Brigands?”

He shook his head again. “No, she just fell ill one day. She was a bit paranoid, so we didn’t live very close to any towns or anything, so there just weren’t any healers or apothecaries around that could have helped.” A fond smile found its way onto his lips as another memory rose to the surface. “Not that she would have let them come inside even if there were. The only other people she ever let in the house were my tutors. She thought it was incredibly important that I got a proper education.”

Cherche smiled and nodded. “Smart woman. You sound like you admired her.”

Robin couldn’t help his grin as he was sucked back into his own memories, thinking of the days when he still had his mother. “Oh yes. She was so intelligent. A bit stern and strict at times, but I responded well to that as a child. She insisted that I have a formal education, so right after she died, I went off to Valm and enrolled in an academy there. I’ve been traveling around as a sell-sword of sorts and occasionally a tactician for hire ever since. I pretty much owe everything to her.” That really was no exaggeration. It was because of her that he realized his love of strategy, and learning in general, and it was because of her insistent pushing that he was as good of a mage as he was today. She had influenced him a lot. In fact, some of her paranoia had rubbed off on him as well (which was serving him well in his current circumstances), which was why he had taken to using an alias in the first place. She had always taught him it was important to lay low. Unfortunately, he would never know exactly why.

They talked for a little while longer before Libra offered to let Robin stay the night, until the storm was over. It was already tempting, but with the addition of a proposition of a bath, he was sold. So he cleaned himself up, went to bed on they couch, and woke up feeling more refreshed than he had for a _very_ long time. Honestly, in comparison to sleeping on the ground in a tent, their couch might as well have been a bed fit for an emperor. Not wanting to take advantage of they hospitality, he set out before they woke up.

He truly was grateful, for more than just them saving his life. It was nice to have a normal conversation with other human beings that didn’t revolve around gleaning information or threatening to throw him in prison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all enjoyed this chapter! Gettin' some background on Robin in this one! Please let me know what you think down in the comments!


	9. The Wyvern Knight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy this chapter! Let me know what you think in the comments!

For seemingly the first time in this whole ordeal, Robin was well-rested and clear—headed, so as he ventured closer to Regna Ferox he realized that maybe instead of using his time to relentlessly chase the rumor of a man that may or may not be dead, he should focus on finding somewhere safe to stay for a while. Lie low for a little. Thinking about his mother the previous night reminded him of about all she taught him to do in case of a crisis: find somewhere safe, assess the situation, formulate a plan of action, stay on alert. He’d been doing very well with the action and alertness parts, so far, but he really needed to find a hideout of sorts so he could properly gather his bearings, a place where he knew no one would find him. And the only place like that he could think of was his old childhood home, Ghenna.

Honestly, he was a little embarrassed he hadn’t thought of it before. His mom would have beat him upside the head for such negligence. Ghenna was already secluded as it was, but his and his mother’s house was even _more_ secluded, being on the smallest island in the archipelago and being surrounded by forest. It was undoubtedly run down from years of vacancy, but anything was better than sleeping in a tent in the woods. Plus, there was an enchanted ‘panic room’ in the basement filled with rations that wouldn’t begin to spoil unless they were opened and other such necessities. It was a perfect safehouse. Maybe while he was there, he could spend some time figuring out who the hell he was married to (he hadn’t really thought about the fact that he was married since he first noticed he had a wedding ring. Gods bless whatever saintly woman he managed to convince to marry his stupid, negligent ass).

Luckily, he didn’t have to alter his course to account for this change of plan; once he got to Valm, he’d just continue on to Ghenna instead of staying. It wasn’t necessarily the perfect plan by any means, but it was something, and, honestly, that was all he could ask for.

* * *

Ever since he returned to his parents’ house after the latest search party, Gerome had been dashing as fast as he could on Minerva, chasing down the white-haired stranger his parents had taken in for the nights. Unable to recognize their missing friend under the layers of grime and snow coating him and the clarity with which he spoke about his past, they had unknowingly let him slip through their fingers. But Gerome wouldn’t make the same mistake. The moment they said that they had even the slightest suspicion that that man was Robin, he had bolted right back out the door after him. He couldn’t have possibly gone far, not while traveling on foot. With Minerva, Gerome was certain to catch up to him soon.

He would be lying if he said that losing Robin had completely unaffected him. Despite his best efforts to remain detached from the past shepherds, some of them still managed to break past his defenses and trick him into caring for them, and as anyone who had ever met him knows, the slipperiest trickster of them all was Robin. Robin’s influence was felt by _everyone_ in the army, and the gaping hole his disappearance left ached inside of each of them. Gerome was not so proud or arrogant to think himself different. If he had the power to end it all—all the worry, all the hurt, all the hopelessness, and bring him back, then by the gods he would. That was what he came into the past to do in the first place—this was merely an extension of that mission.

He scanned the ground as he flew, searching for either the distinctive shock of white hair of his parents’ friend or the strange pattern of his coat. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t take very long for him to spot it; there he was, the long-lost tactician himself, trudging glacially through the thick blanket of snow. Gerome had no idea what kind of stunt Robin was trying to pull with giving his parents a fake name and a fabricated backstory (didn’t he want to return home? The thought hurt him more than he cared to admit), but it ended now. If he was so hellbent on avoiding his friends, then Gerome would string him up by his ankles onto Minerva and drag him dangling through the air back to Ylisstol if he needed to.

He sped forward and swooped down onto the ground, landing directly in front of Robin and effectively blocking his path. Robin let out a little yelp and stumbled backwards, obviously unaware that he was being followed. Gerome could have rolled his eyes. Apparently three years out of practice had dulled his senses as a tactician. He noticed that he was wearing a strange mask (not that he had any room to talk), very much like the one Lucina used to wear while she was disguising herself as Marth. _‘He must really be invested in hiding from everybody.’_

Despite the mask, he could easily see how frazzled Robin was. “Um… h-hello? D-did you need something…?”

Gerome grimaced. “Cut the bullshit, Robin. I don’t know what kind of game you think you’re playing, but it ends now.”

Robin flinched slightly at the sound of his own name, a look of terror flashing across his masked face. Why in the gods’ names was he so scared? Gerome may not have been the most comforting presence, but surely seeing a familiar face after wandering around on your own for three years would be a welcome experience. _‘Hmm. Something’s not right here.’_

Robin gathered his bearings and took on a ridiculous stance, his chest puffed out in faux confidence. He pitched his voice down into a mockable tone, obviously trying and failing to sound natural. “W-who is this ‘Robin’ you speak of? I am Deryn, a humble traveler. Surely you must have me mistaken for someone else.”

Deryn? What the hell was he going on about? Gerome had to admit—he was surprised. All these years he thought that Robin’s son being such a terrible liar under pressure was merely a personality trait; he never imagined that it may have been hereditary. But even _more_ surprising was the fact that Robin didn’t seem to recognize him _at all._ Obviously, he must, but there wasn’t even the faintest glimmer of recognition in his eyes. He’d be impressed by his acting skills were it not for the fact that he had just learned that he was a horrible liar. It made no sense. How could it be that he could conceal such an unconscious tell as recognition, but he couldn’t lie without making a fool out of himself? Something was _very_ strange, indeed.

Still, strange or not, he had a mission, and hell would freeze over before he let it get away from him. “Drop the act, you look like a fool. Did you really think that a mask and some ridiculous fake name would trick me? I’m insulted. Here I thought you were done underestimating me.” He had Minerva begin to slowly approach him, as one would do to a frightened animal (or a predator stalking its prey, in this case). Robin matched each step forward with one backward, to Gerome’s great annoyance. “You’re coming with me whether you like it or not, Robin. They only difference is whether you’ll be sitting in the saddle with me or dangling in the air by a rope. Your choice.”

Suddenly, as if flipping a switch, all the fear in Robin’s eyes was drained away and replaced with a familiar look of steely determination. _“You’ll never take me alive!!!”_

“Wha—?” But before Gerome could figure out what the ever-loving _fuck_ that meant, he had to roll Minerva to the side to avoid a bolt of thoron aimed directly for his face. He balked. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!?!? That could have killed me!”

“That was kind of the point!” He sent another flurry of magic which Gerome only barely dodged by launching Minerva into the air.

Okay, so Robin was _obviously_ not in his right mind. Unfortunately, Gerome didn’t have the time to come up with a plan of action before he had to evade another onslaught of magical attacks, rolling out of the way just in time. He clenched his jaw, resolve filling him. If Robin wouldn’t listen to his words, then he’d have to listen to his steel. He dodged another lightning bold, pulling out his spear, and with a yell he swung it through the air. He wasn’t trying to hurt him, obviously, just know him around a bit and get him tired enough so that he could drag him onto Minerva.

However, Robin was _definitely_ trying to hurt him, rolling and blasting shot after shot at him. He barely had time to avoid his attacks, let alone counter them. Another lightning bolt zipped past his face, singing the tips of his hair and filling the air with the crackle of electricity. Fuck, was he always this relentless? Suddenly he pitied all the soldiers that had to face down Robin during his military career. Gerome was no weakling either, though. He grimaced at the smell of burnt hair. He tightened his grip on his spear and lunged once more.

There was an audible _rip_ as the blade of Gerome’s spear sliced through the sleeve of Robin’s coat. Robin’s eyes widened before his face twisted into a glare. He jumped backwards, barely escaping Gerome’s next lunge. From this close, he could see the dangerous crackling glow of Robin’s hands. The next thing he knew he was flying upside-down through the air, a shooting pain stabbing his side. Minerva roared as he hit the ground with a dull _thud._

Gerome groaned, slowly lifting his head out of the snow. A pair of boots walking into his field of vision. “Sorry, I really hate to do this, but I can’t have you following me,” Robin said.

“What—?”

Gerome’s arms and legs suddenly snapped to his sides, completely immobilized. He squirmed and writhed on the ground, but to avail. He was stuck. “Hey! What did you—?”

“Just a simple hex. Don’t worry, it wears off. Eventually. But if I were you, I’d get comfortable. Sorry.” Robin waved his fingers in a strange pattern and Minerva let out another cry, joining Gerome in the snow. Robin then turned tail and ran (quite quickly, actually) until he was nothing more than a dot on the horizon.

“Hey, no, get back here! Robin! _Rooooooobiiiiiin!!!!!”_ But his yelling fell of deaf ears. His head thunked onto the ground as he let out a defeated sigh. _‘Gods dammit. You may have evaded me this time, Robin, but next time we cross paths, I won’t be so careless.’_


	10. Basilio

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the late update, I really wanted to post these two chapters at the same time, so it took a bit longer than usual. As always, enjoy, and let me know what you think down in the comments!

Robin sat in his tent, his shoulders bare as he carefully ran a needle and thread through the tear in his mother’s coat. He hated to admit the spear of panic that had shot through him when that wyvern knight’s lance pierced through the fabric, but he couldn’t deny it. He tied off the thread, cutting the excess with his teeth. He let out a long sigh as he examined his shabby handiwork. It wasn’t nearly as bad as it could have been, considering his horrendous lack of domestic skills (you’d think a guy who’d been living on his own for so long would be better at that kind of stuff. Once again, he felt both incredibly grateful and incredibly sorry for his wife, whoever she was). The stitches were a bit crooked, but he’d be the only person who’d notice it. He just felt pretty awful that he’d gotten it torn; it hadn’t been ripped once in all the years he’d owned it, and it had looked practically new when he’d inherited it, despite his mother owning it for who-knows how long.

He let out another sigh as he slipped it back on his shoulders. Oh well. There was no time to lament one silly little tear. He had to get to the port. He had made quite a bit of ground in the past week (he only now had the opportunity to pick up sewing supplies and mend his coat), now he was camped out nearby the capital of Regna Ferox. He desperately hoped that that wyvern knight wouldn’t try to follow him, though he knew it was unlikely he hadn’t. He was obviously driven, and very committed to arresting him. Gods damn him if sparing his life came back to bite him in the ass. He cursed himself for not having the stomach to finish him off, but he just couldn’t do it. Couldn’t kill such a young man like that, even if he was trying to throw him in prison. He promised himself that next time he wouldn’t show such hesitation.

He exited his tent and began to tear down his campsite. He may be pretty far into Ferox, but he still had a long way to go before he reached the port. There was no time to delay. As much as he hated going through _another_ large city, it would take him way too much time to try and go around the capital, and sticking to the main roads was safest when it was this cold (he couldn’t rely on another chance encounter with a friendly wyvern). Besides, he was only wanted in Ylisse—there’d be no reason for officials in Ferox to be looking for him.

It didn’t take long for him to find himself in the thick of the city. While it wasn’t quite as vibrant as the Ylissean cities he had been to, it was no less crowded. In fact, the sheer bulk of all the people crammed onto the street seemed excessive. There must have been some kind of event or festival or holiday going on. Not that Robin had the time to stick around and find out what it was. But all the pushing and shoving was making it quite difficult to navigate his way through the city.

The crowding only got worse as he ventured closer to the center of town, elbows jabbing his ribs and feet stamping on his toes painfully. He couldn’t carry on like this, he had to find a way to escape the suffocation throng of people. But before he could break free, a hard shove to his back sent him toppling forward. He managed to catch himself before he smashed his face into the ground, but his mask wasn’t so lucky. He watched as if in slow-motion as a foot came down and snapped the life-saving accessory in half with a deafening _crack._ A sick feeling rose up in Robin’s stomach, his insides churning at the knowledge that his main method of concealing his identity was ruined (he still had his coat, of course, but a pattern-changing cloak and a hood weren’t quite as effective as a full-blown mask, and his shoddy repair work on the tear would cause _quite_ a bit of trouble with the enchantment, making it take far more conscious effort in order to keep the illusion up).

He didn’t have time to mourn this loss for long, however, as he suddenly found himself being shoved through a pair of heavy doors, swept up in the crowd. Well, looked like Robin was going to find out whatever it was that was stirring such a fuss in the city folk soon, whether he liked it or not. The buzz of the crowd was much, _much_ stronger in the dark, spacious building he now found himself in—no, no, _arena._ He was in an arena. What for, he had no idea, but there was obviously something very big happening there. He tried to exit the building from where he came, but the force of all the people flooding in prevented him from doing so.

Okay, so he had two options. He could scour around this _massive_ building for a side exit, or he could stick around for a little bit until the main entrance cleared out. So far, the second option was sounding _very_ tempting, so against his better judgement, he (miraculously) found an empty seat and settled in. He could use a bit of a rest and a distraction, sure, but unlike with his chance encounter with Lord Chrom, this time he really had no intention of staying beyond how long it took for the entrances to clear out. As improbable as it was, he wasn’t willing to risk running into anyone that could potentially want to arrest him while he was so vulnerable, both with his physical restrictions and the lack of proper facial concealment.

Unfortunately, it was so dark and crowded in the arena that it was virtually impossible for him to tell when the path was clear enough to leave. Robin jumped a little in his seat as a booming voice filled the arena, bright lights flickering on and illuminating the large stage space below. _“Welcome one and all to the one and only Kahn’s Tournament!!!”_

Kahn’s Tournament? Well that would certainly explain why there was such a giant crowd. Robin couldn’t deny that he was tempted to stay and watch—it would definitely be interesting to see who the new reigning Kahn would be—but, once again, he couldn’t risk it. As he made his way to get out of his seat, the announcer spoke once more, stopping him in his tracks.

_“Representing the West Kahn, Kahn Lon’qu, is the former West Kahn, the legendary war hero, Kahn Basilio!!!!”_

Robin choked on his own saliva, devolving into a _long_ coughing fit that earned him quite a few dirty looks from the patrons seated around him. _What?_ Who—wha—why— _Kahn Basilio????????_ But he was **_dead,_** he **_died._** He…… he was **_DEAD!_** He went on a **_SUICIDE MISSION!!!!!!!_** But there he was, illuminated by a spotlight as he strutted onto the stage to the sound of raucous applause. He certainly looked older than Robin recalled him being, but by the cocky grin on his face and the swagger of his gait, he was obviously alive and very, _very_ well.

Robin was so stunned he could do nothing more than sit petrified in his seat, his mouth opening and closing like a suffocating fish. As if his nerves weren’t fried enough, the next announcement made his blood run cold, all life sapping from his veins to be replaced with pure terror.

_“Representing the East Kahn, Kahn Flavia, we have Ylisse’s very own Exalt, Lord Chrom!!!!!”_

If Robin had been able to process literally anything other than how irrevocably _screwed_ he was, he would have noticed the way the crowd around him boomed with cheers. However, all his attention was fixed straight forward and down into the stage of the arena, where the very man that wanted him dead the most was sauntering out into the spotlight, twirling his sword around like some arrogant young hotshot mercenary.

Robin couldn’t move. Not a single muscle. He couldn’t think either. The usual never-ending train of thoughts and strategies racing through his mind had ground to a halt, screeching violently on their tracks. In a way, there was almost something peaceful about being in such a state of complete and utter shock that he was entirely incapable of reacting. Until his heart started pounding against his ribs and sweat started pouring down the back of his neck and his lungs started to involuntarily heave oxygen in and out at a concerning pace, of course.

Amid his crisis, Robin found himself staring up at the West Kahn’s private box, which, due to the steep slope of the seats in the arena, he had a perfectly clear view of. The new West Kahn (Kahn Lon’qu, he miraculously remembered in a brief moment of clarity) had a stern, intense look on his face that sent a shiver down Robin’s spine as he stared down into the center of the arena. Seated next to him was a pretty, pink-haired woman (likely his wife) who was biting her lip, her brow furrowed in what Robin could only assume was worry.

For some reason, the sight snapped enough sense into him to kick Robin’s brain back into gear. Okay. Okay. Deep breaths (no hyperventilating). Assess the situation at hand. What was the first problem? Kahn Basilio, who Robin previously thought to be dead, was standing right in front of him about to fight in the Kahn’s Tournament. Why was that a problem? It… wasn’t, really, just surprising and kind of reworked everything Robin thought he knew about what happened in his lost memory. Okay, that was one less thing to worry about. Next problem? Lord Chrom was also standing right in front of him, and he was holding a _very_ sharp sword. Why was that a problem? Because Lord Chrom had made it crystal clear that he wanted Robin _dead,_ and being in the same room as him for any extended period of time greatly increased the chances of that happening. How what he going to get out of it? Well, Lord Chrom was busy with the Tournament so he hadn’t seen him yet, and with the fight being mere moments away from starting, the exits were clear enough for him to slip away undetected. Okay. Perfect. That was what he was going to do. Just slide on out of his seat and—

“Oh don’t worry so much, Maribelle! We’re here to relax and watch my hopeless brother kick some butt! You’ll have plenty of time to fret _after_ the tournament’s over.”

“A lady doesn’t _fret,_ Lissa darling…but I suppose you’re right. I just can’t stop thinking about… _him.”_

At the sound of how the woman above him spat the word _‘him,’_ Robin turned around to find… oh fuck. Oh. _FUCK._ It… it was… the Exalt’s younger sister, Princess Lissa, and… and the Duchess of Themes, Lady Maribelle (he vaguely remembered reading somewhere in one of his ~~stolen~~ borrowed books that the previous Duke had stepped down after the birth of his grandson). All plans of slipping away vanished from his mind as Robin found himself once again paralyzed.

But the Princess and Duchess weren’t the only of his new worries, he realized, as a blue-haired man he recognized as… the deposed Duke Virion of Rosanne…? (Clearly not-so deposed anymore) spoke. “Worry not, my sweet. None understand Robin’s moves as well as I. We’ll have him any day now. Why, I’ll drag him back to Themes with my own two hands if I have to!”

 _Fuck,_ they were talking about **_him?!?!?!?!?_** Of all the hopeless, unlucky things in the world—

But his mental ramblings were cut off by Duchess Maribelle scoffing with a flip of her hair, a merciless scowl plastered across her face. “I am not _worried,_ Virion, I am _livid._ You have no idea what kind of stress I’m under with Themes being the epicenter of the search. With how chaotic things have been lately with all the sightings, false of otherwise, I may just begin to sprout some gray hairs! I don’t care if you have to shackle his hands and feet together and strap him on the back of Cherche’s wyvern, I want him found!”

Robin swallowed thickly. _Hooooo boooy,_ that did _not_ sound good. He obviously must have pissed off the Duchess somehow, because that look on her face was downright _murderous._ And what was that the Duke had said about knowing him? Seriously, _when_ had he gotten so involved with all this royalty?!

A gentle laugh brought his attention to a dark-haired warrior woman sitting beside Duke Virion. “Aye, well said, my Lady, if a bit ruthless. Rest assured, they are my sentiments as well. The Duke and I have spent countless hours securing our continent’s ports and briefing the guards there. If he arrives anywhere in Valm, we will know of it.” Was that… the Queen of Chon’sin? Lady Say’ri? Damn, was the entire _world_ out to get him?!?!

“Exactly! If that sly snake so much as sneezes on a ship headed for Rosanne, he will have an army of guards upon him within moments. With all the sightings lately, we have seen to it that everyone is on high-alert.”

Of fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh _fuck._ Robin was screwed. So, irrevocably screwed he could’ve almost laughed (or cried, who knew). Well, there went the Ghenna plan. There was no _way_ he’d be able to slip on a ship to Valm if what they said was true. But before he could come up with a new plan, the Princess spoke again.

“Hey, does something seem weird with Lon’qu to you guys? He keeps looking over here like he’s seen a ghost!”

“Aye, he does appear quite shaken,” the Duke commented. “Perhaps something is amiss.”

Robin followed their gazes up to the West Kahn’s box………………... only to directly lock eyes with the West Kahn himself. His heart jumped so high up into his throat he was surprised he wasn’t coughing it up. The previously stoic face of Kahn Lon’qu was now pale, his eyes widened with the same shock Robin felt in his heart. The Kahn leaned over to his wife and whispered something into her ear, causing her eyes to widen. Only when she waved over a guard and pointed directly at Robin did his ability to move return. He sprang up out of his seat as stealthily as he could (which wasn’t very much at all) and speed-walked towards the exit, fighting every instinct in his body to refrain from sprinting out of there. He got some odd looks, but he really couldn’t find it in him to care when he needed to _leave **now.**_

As soon as he got past the big double doors that led to his freedom, he made a break for it, running as hard and as fast as he could. There was practically nobody in the streets, what with the Kahn’s Tournament going on, so he didn’t need to worry about drawing unnecessary suspicion and could focus on just _running._ He noticed with a dull sort of interest that he didn’t feel nearly as winded as he previously had when he needed to run from the law like this, so that was a bonus, he guessed.

He had a feeling his endurance would only increase from now on, not that he had any real choice in the matter.


	11. Retreat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! Once again, so sorry for the slow update, but I _reeeeeeeeeeeally_ wanted to post these two chapters at the same time. As always, thank you so much for reading, enjoy, and let me know what you think down in the comments!

Once the adrenaline of running for his life wore off, Robin found that running was still quite exhausting for him. He was knelt down by the side of the road in gods-knew where trying desperately not to throw up, his sides and legs burning with exhaustion. In between dry heaves, he finally began to process what exactly he had heard while at the Kahn’s Tournament. Okay, so the entire continent of Valm was hunting him down as well good to know good to know. Unfortunately, that meant there was _no way_ he’d be able to take refuge in Ghenna, meaning he’d have to find somewhere else to hide out. From the looks of it, Ferox wasn’t safe either, what with the West Kahn recognizing him and sending guards after him. But where the holy hell could he go?

Well, if there wasn’t anywhere in the world where he could be safe, at least he learned where he could find some answers: Themes. The Duchess said that it was the epicenter of the manhunt looking for him, so he’d be surprised if something in his past didn’t connect him to Themes somehow. There was a possibility that it was only the main hub due to its geographical location, what with it being pretty much in the middle of the continent—the Ylissean/Plegian border was a very good spot for a trans-continental bounty hunt—but it was a risk he was willing to take. It wasn’t like he had any other leads.

It was incredibly frustrating that he’d have to backtrack all the way back to Ylisse (hell, practically all the way back to _Plegia),_ but he really didn’t have much of a choice. It would be a long, hard journey, but he needed to figure out where the _hell_ he was. He was probably still in Ferox (he could run pretty fast but, damn, not that fast), but that didn’t really give him much to go on. When he bolted out of the tournament, he just ran—he didn’t pay any attention to where he was going. Not the most prudent decision, but he didn’t really have the capacity at the time to make prudent decisions.

He finally managed to force back the nausea enough to stand upright and take in his surroundings. Lots of snow, obviously, and from the looks of it there were no towns or villages anywhere nearby. Fantastic, just an endless stretch of icy, white, barely cleared path, likely meant for merchant carriages. Well, standing around would do him no good, so he brushed the snow off of his pants and the bottom of his cloak and started walking. He’d have to run into civilization eventually, or at least a notable landmark, and from there he could use his map to figure out where he was and plot a proper course for Themes.

Unfortunately, the walk to civilization was a bit… longer than he expected. And far more tiring… and hunger-inducing. Gods, when was the last time he ate? It had to have been at least a day or two—there weren’t a lot of berries and nuts to forage in the woods of Ferox, and his trapping skills were still pretty rusty at best. After what felt like hours of walking, he wasn’t any closer to civilization and he was absolutely _starving._ He could barely think with how exhausted he was and how _painfully_ his stomach ached from emptiness. He had so little energy—he either needed a nap or a meal _right now_ or he thought he might pass out.

It got to the point where he couldn’t focus on _anything_ other than the overwhelming hunger and exhaustion, no matter how hard he tried. He took to counting the rocks wedged into the path as he walked to distract himself, but that wasn’t very helpful. Gods, he should have stocked up some more on his last town visit. Though, to be fair, he had thought that he’d have time to get some more rations while in the capital—he had no way of knowing that he’d be ran out of the city almost immediately after getting there.

He was having such a hard time focusing, in fact, that it wasn’t until he ran face-first into a large, hairy chest that he realized he was surrounded by bandits.

He sprang backwards, taking in with wide, frightened eyes the grinning behemoth of a man he ran into and his equally massive grinning cohorts. Robin smiled nervously, sweat beginning to fall down the back of his neck as he eyed the large sword strapped to the bandit’s side. “Um… c-can I help you…?” He knew _exactly_ what these guys wanted, but he really didn’t have much of a choice other than to try and talk this one out—there was no way he’d be able to take on ten fully-grown brigands in such a tired state.

The bandit’s grin grew impossibly wider in a way that reminded Robin very much of a wolf, revealing a single gold tooth. “Why, I think ya can, as a matter a’ fact.” He took a step closer, making Robin take a step back. “Wouldja care ta help a few fellas out by spottin’ us some gold?” He locked eyes with Robin, irises gleaming with menace. “Promise ta pay ya back.”

Robin’s heart was racing, his stomach practically doing somersaults into his throat as he took another step back. “O-oh no, I’m afraid there’s been a mistake, you see I don’t really have any money—” Another step backwards earned him a dull jab to the small of his back. He swallowed thickly when he looked behind him to see that the other bandits had closed in on him, the jab he felt being from the sword of the one directly behind him. _‘Oh gods I am **so** fucked.’ _

“Ya hear him?” The first bandit (probably their leader) stepped closer, completely encircling Robin and offering no chances of escape. “First this scrawny bloke runs right inta me wit’out apologizin’, an’ now he won’t even spot some poor fellas down on their luck some gold? How despicable, right boys?”

A chorus of approving hums and grunts sounded from around the group. Despite not having eaten anything in two days, Robin began to feel ill again.

The leader stepped uncomfortably close to him, making him painfully aware of just how much he towered over him. He drew his sword out of its sheath with the deafening sound of scraping metal. Robin could feel his pulse hammer against his skin as the bandit leaned in, foul breath fanning across his face. “Why doncha hand over that bag a’ yours there an’ we’ll call it even.”

Robin’s eyes darted around frantically, desperately looking for any method of escape, only for complete and total dread to fall upon him as he realized that there was none. He was entirely surrounded. Maybe on a normal day, when he was rested and fed, he would’ve stood a chance to fight them off—he wouldn’t sell himself short, he was a damn good mage, and he didn’t think the average bandit would last beyond one of two bolts of thoron—but today, not so much. Not when he was already swaying unsteadily, practically dead on his feet.

But… but he couldn’t just _give_ them his bag. It held everything he owned! All his camping equipment, the important texts he ~~stole~~ borrowed, his meager supply of gold. He… he couldn’t afford to lose it! Without his tent he was as good as dead with the bitter cold of Ferox… But if he _didn’t_ hand over his bag… the wild look in the bandits’ eyes told him he wouldn’t survive long enough to lament the harsh elements.

Oh gods, what was he going to do? He—oh fuck he needed to think fast he didn’t have enough time not nearly enough time think think think.

But it turned out that he didn’t have to think because his body decided what to do for him. He whipped out his tome and shot off three consecutive blasts, sending three bandits flying backwards. He spun on his heel and fired off again on the ones behind him. He grinned, a shot of adrenaline pumping through his veins. Holy fuck this just might work! He bolted, not bothering to look back at the groaning bandits lying on the ground. That was his first mistake.

The next thing he knew a large weight rammed into him, tackling him to the ground. The bandit yanked his arms behind his back and planted his foot down onto his spine, knocking the air out of his lungs and forcing a yelp of pain out of his lips. The bandit leaned in and pulled his arms back farther, so far that Robin was certain something was going to pop, making him whimper involuntarily. “Oi, lookie here! Looks like we got ourselves a fancy little mageling! Bet ya think yer so clever pulling a stunt like that, eh?” He yanked Robin up to his feet, making him stumble and cry out in pain. He pushed his back up to his chest and pressed the blade of his sword against his throat, the cool metal making his heart stop. “Not so clever now, are ya? How’d ya like a real nice close shave? Call it a parting gift.”

Robin squeezed his eyes shut and craned his head back away from the blade as far as he could as his felt the sharp sting of metal begin to sink into his skin. No no no no no no no no no not like this anything but this he’d have rather dropped dead in that snowstorm than this at least then there wasn’t this all-consuming panic and dread, this slow, drawn-out fear of the inevitable that there was now no no no no no no no gods no.

Robin was by no means a religious man, but in that moment, he prayed.

And his prayers were answered.

The sound of whistling wind and the dull _shunk_ of metal sinking into flesh caused him to open his eyes, revealing that the man who had previously been holding a sword to his throat was now stone dead on the ground with a javelin impaled through his chest. He looked around wildly until his eyes were drawn to the sky and the fleet of nearly twenty dark fliers that were quickly descending upon him and the bandits. He didn’t know whether to feel relieved of frightened as a woman with flaming red hair swooped down close to the ground and retrieved the javelin without dismounting her pegasus, a stern glower on her face. Her pegasus landed with a loud thump. She sat tall and proud, flaming hair surrounding her head like a halo, her javelin now dripping with fresh blood. It was a truly terrifying sight, and with all the shock running through Robin’s system, he could do nothing more than stand there paralyzed.

“Halt brigands!” the woman yelled. “By the name of the Royal Dark Fliers of Plegia I order you to stop your crimes and let this man go! I do not wish to use force, but if you do not cease your actions at once my sisters and I will have no choice but to cut you down as well.”

The bandits looked on in fear as the rest of the fliers surrounded them in the sky, spears and tomes at the ready. The leader opened and closed his mouth like a dying fish, his face sheet white.

The woman continued, her powerful, authoritative voice booming through the air, “As you can see, we have you surrounded, so come quietly and there will be no need for further bloodshed.”

When the bandits made no move to fight back, the fliers descended upon them, tying their arms behind their backs and loading them onto their pegasi. Robin was intensely relieved that he wasn’t getting his throat slit today, but he was quickly filled with a new fear. These women may have just saved his life, but the were also members of the _police._ Plegian police, sure, but he wasn’t willing to take his chances with any kind of law enforcement. _Especially_ not when he had no mask and his cloak’s concealment charm was on the fritz.

So when the red-haired woman dismounted from her pegasus and began to approach him, asking “Are you alright, sir?” he panicked, and with a newfound energy born of pure adrenaline he bolted out of the road and into the nearby forest.

* * *

Cordelia looked off into the trees after the man she and her dark fliers had just saved from a pack of bandits. She tilted her head to the side curiously, her eyebrows furrowing. She hadn’t gotten a good look at him, and she was both disappointed and confused that he had ran away so quickly. “Hmm. What a strange man. I hope he’s alright.”


	12. Farmer Lord Donnel

Within the next few weeks one of Robin’s greatest fears had come to pass: he ran out of money. It was a miracle that he’d managed to scrounge up enough for a replacement mask, but now he was left without even a single gold piece to his name. He’d been living pretty damn stingily, trying to be as self-sufficient as possible, but he had no idea how much longer he’d be on the run, and there were bound to be situations that’d pop up where he’d need some cash. What if he broke his mask again? And winter was right around the corner—it wasn’t usually too terribly harsh in Ylisse, but it still got pretty cold, so having money for a few emergency inn stays wasn’t a bad idea, on top of money for food when all the greenery died and Robin’s trapping skills failed him. Unfortunately, as the world kept electing to remind him, he was an outlaw, so who the hell would hire him? Especially if it was only for a short period of time before he had to get on the move again? Most employers usually preferred a more permanent workforce.

The gods must have decided that he’d suffered enough for the time being and chose to give him a bit of a break, because as he was wandering somewhere vaguely along Ylisse’s eastern border, he caught sight of a notice put up by the local lord asking for short-term workers to help gather up the last of the harvest before winter hit. If it was nothing more than divine pity, he’d take it. So with a brief, curious thought about why a lord would own a farm, he made his way to the nearby agricultural village, hoping that this lord wouldn’t want to ask too many questions.

Robin needn’t have worried. Though the lord was quite friendly and welcoming (with a country drawl he found rather un-lordly), he seemed more concerned about finishing up the harvest than digging much into the personal lives of his new farmhands. Honestly, Robin was surprised how easy it all was. All he needed to do was waltz onto the farm, ask a random passerby where to go about the job opening, and then the next thing he knew he was being greeted warmly by a purple-haired man with a bright grin and a firm handshake as he was welcomed onto the team.

It was the tail end of the harvest season, so there were only a few other farmhands working with him, meaning that Robin got to interact with the lord quite frequently, who he was quickly realizing was the least lordly lord he’d ever seen. First of all, his name was _Donnel,_ of all things, and he insisted Robin call him that. But even more than his painfully un-noble name and his distaste for proper etiquette, the man was incredibly involved in all the farm work, laboring right along beside Robin and the other farmhands. He was pretty chatty too, going on and on about this and that as they worked. It wasn’t that Robin _minded,_ per se, it was just so strange. Being a tactician for hire, he’d met his fair share of nobles, and while they weren’t all terribly stuffy and hoity-toity (though some were), none ever behaved remotely like this.

Over the course of a few weeks, Robin found himself growing quite fond of the strange lord, and he seemed to share a similar sentiment. While he was apprehensive at first about giving in to his cheerful demeanor, he couldn’t help himself. The guy was just too nice to brush off, and he found that he enjoyed shooting the breeze with him immensely while they worked. Besides, nothing Donnel ever wanted to talk about was too deep or personal, so he figured he’d be safe indulging in just a little bit of camaraderie.

Robin hated to admit it, but spending time with Donnel made him realize that in all his time since waking up, he’d not had a single friend. It was his own fault, of course, he was intentionally trying to stay away from civilization after all, but it was hard to deny that it got… lonely. He was never the most social man in the world, but now that he had a friendly relationship with somebody it was hard not to feel the sting of being isolated for all those months. Honestly, looking back on it, it was a miracle he hadn’t gone mad from such a total lack of human interaction.

It almost made him sad that he’d have to leave soon.

But for now he was there, and he had a friend, and he was going to try his hardest to appreciate the short time he had with him before he had to strike out on his own again, back to the unforgiving wilderness. So that was why when Donnel invited him to have some tea together after they’d finished their work one day, he eagerly accepted.

Robin was more than a little shocked when he was ushered inside a small farmhouse instead of a noble’s estate, but, honestly, with how strange and down to earth Donnel was for a lord, he couldn’t be too terribly surprised. He was quickly seated at a small wooden table in the center of the room as Donnel busied himself with the kettle in the kitchen a few steps away. The place was cozy—warm and inviting much in the same way that Libra and Cherche’s home had been, but with a distinctly humble, lived-in feel about it. There wasn’t much decoration, but he caught sight of what looked to be a small family portrait hanging on the wall on the other side of the room. He couldn’t properly see any of the faces, but the three figures seemed to be smiling brightly. _‘What a strange lord indeed,’_ Robin couldn’t help but think.

“Sorry ‘bout the mess,” Donnel said as he brought over the kettle and two cups, pouring some teas out for them. “I’ve been so busy with the last-minute harvest an’ getting’ everything prepared for winter an’ all I’m ‘fraid I’ve not had much time to tidy up ‘round the house.” He let out a little chuckle as he sat down opposite Robin.

Robin shook his head, a reassuring smile on his lips. “Don’t worry about it. I was actually just admiring how nice your home is.” He let himself grin a little wider, an edge of mirth to his voice. “It’s not exactly what I’d expect out of a lord’s house.”

Donnel laughed a little again, rubbing the back of his neck and glancing about the room. “Nah, I reckon it ain’t, but it’s home. B’tween you an’ me, I’m still not really used to this whole lordly business. Heck, I still get a start when somebody calls me ‘sir’!” He let out another good-natured laugh.

That made Robin raise a curious eyebrow. “What, you’ve not had your whole life to adjust to it?” He didn’t say it to be mean, but his voice did have a playful lilt to it.

“Aw shucks, don’t tease me like that, ‘course not,” he said, but his smile was undeterred. “It don’t take a detective to figure out I’m pretty new to all this.”

“New?” That only piqued more of his interest. He couldn’t say he’d ever heard of there being much _new_ nobility in Ylisse. Or anywhere, really.

Donnel suddenly looked a little sheepish. “Well, I reckon not _that_ new. Been a couple ‘a years now, but that don’t make it any less strange.” A hint of an embarrassed flush rose to his cheeks. “Though I mean, it ain’t like I’m a _real_ lord, anyhow. Just got a big patch a’ land an’ a farm on it, but the folks ‘round here sure treat me like one.”

Ah, Robin understood now. That explained a whole lot—he was just a simple farm boy that managed to find himself with a good deal of wealth and a great deal of land, thus being raised to the social status of a lord by the villagers. Robin offered him a smile. “Hey, what else is a lord but just some guy with a bunch of land and the respect of the townsfolk? Sure sounds like you’re a real lord to me.”

Donnel chuckled. “I suppose you might be right.” His eyes widened in realization. “Oh! Have some a’ the tea, wontcha?” He scratched the back of his neck. “I can’t promise it tastes any good—I ain’t the best in the kitchen an’ I can’t say I’m used to makin’ a lot of the stuff—but I can try to find some biscuits or cakes or somethin’ to help wash it down.”

Robin shook his head with a smile. “No, I’m sure that won’t be necessary. Thank you for the hospitality.” But as soon as he raised the cup to his lips and splash of the liquid landed on his tongue he immediately reconsidered.

It took nearly all he had in him not to recoil in revulsion from just one sip. Gods, what _was_ this crap?! Certainly nothing anybody should be putting in a pot and _drinking._ It went beyond merely a lack of brewing skill (though that was definitely at fault as well) and al the way to a fundamental problem with the blend. It was black tea, obviously, but it was somehow both so bland and bitter at the same time that it would have been nigh impossible to tell. There was just something so _wrong_ about the combination of flavors, as though someone had just scrounged up the dregs of at least eight different batches of tea leaves and decided to throw them all together to create _this_ unholy abomination.

It wasn’t so much the bitterness that bothered him as it was how painfully low quality the blend was. He didn’t think there was any amount of sugar or honey that could possibly save this pot, not with such a base issue. He almost felt indignant at it all, this was _not_ how tea was supposed to taste!

His thoughts came to a grinding halt. Wait. Why… why did he care? He didn’t even _like_ tea! He was an avid coffee drinker—he didn’t think he’d had more than two or three cups of tea in his life! How… how the _fuck_ did he know so much about it?! So much so to the point it had been an _instant reaction?!_ But apparently he did, for whatever ludicrous, unfathomable reason, he did. Gods, how much had he unknowingly changed in eight years? He didn’t remember himself being such a snob.

He managed to put a cap on his mental crisis long enough to bring him back to reality. He stifled a cough, but he was sure the pained expression no doubt plastered across his face behind the mask told Donnel everything. “O-on second thought… some biscuits might be nice.

Donne gave him a reassuring but not unsurprised look. “Yeah, that’s what I reckoned. Lemme see what I’ve got in the pantry.” He got up to shuffle around in the kitchen, leaving Robin alone to contemplate what the _hell_ that had been about.

* * *

Robin was quite sad when it came time for him to leave a few days later, but what must be done must be done. At least now as he walked off, continuing the long journey to Themes, he had a coin purse full of gold and some fond memories to keep him company.


	13. The Visitors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy! Please let me know what you think in the comments!

There was far too much going on in Ylisstol for Lissa’s comfort. She swore, it was like the whole city was bust, abuzz with the energy of Robin’s potential return, as impossible as that was. Nothing had been _really_ confirmed yet, so Frederick had managed to convince Chrom not to release the news to anyone outside of the Shepherds or law enforcement yet. Unfortunately, there was nothing their loyal knight could do that could stop her bone-headed brother from buzzing around the castle like a madman, sending out search party after search party and writing missive after missive and letter after letter in a desperate attempt to track down even the smallest bit of information on their friend’s whereabouts. She doubted he’d slept or eaten hardly at all in the past month, despite hers and Sumia’s pleas that he take the time to rest.

It wasn’t as if Lissa didn’t understand his feelings—she missed Robin dearly as well (even the way he used to scold her and nag her about growing up when she pulled a prank on him held a sense of nostalgia and longing for her whenever she thought about it), but even she wasn’t nearly as close to him as Chrom was. She doubted that _anyone_ in the Shepherds had the same kind of bond with him that he had (heck, probably not even his wife). And that was why she understood. However, that didn’t mean that she liked it, or that all the business and frantic energy around the castle wasn’t stressing her out. So, she decided it was about high time she took a little bit of a vacation, and when Lucina and Cynthia asked to come along as well with that tired look in their eyes, well, what kind of a terrible aunt would she be if she refused?

Unfortunately, this “vacation” of hers wasn’t quite as glamorous as the word implied. It wasn’t even really a break at all, as she’d still be working, but what mattered was that she’d be working on something _different,_ something that didn’t have to do with Robin or Ylisstol, and she wouldn’t have to deal with her brother’s nervous energy for a little while. When she explained this to her nieces, they were still just as eager to go, obviously sharing the same sentiments. Besides, it had been far too long since she’d given her husband a proper visit, and she was extremely excited to see him again.

She didn’t want to have to bother with escorts or guards (she was traveling with two of the best fighters she knew, and she and her husband were both war heroes in their own right, so she wasn’t particularly worried about their safety), so the three of them simply flew there together on the back of Cynthia’s pegasus. It was a bit of a tight squeeze, but all three of them were rather dainty and they didn’t need much luggage, so they made it work. The second they landed in front of that tiny old farmhouse that Lissa not-so secretly hated, she was running straight into the arms of the scraggly, purple-haired man waiting on the doorstep. “Donny! Oh Donny I missed you so much, you have _no_ idea how stressful things are back at the castle right now—I swear my head was just about ready to explode if I stayed there any longer!”

He chuckled and rubbed her back as he returned his embrace. “Aw shucks, Lissa, I missed ya too. I’m really glad y’all’re here—are ya sure ya don’t mind muckin’ around in the fields with me? Ya don’t haveta, ya know! Y’all can just be guests, an’ I can finish up on my own. I’m almost done anyway.”

“Phooey, I want to help! What kind of a wife would I be if I didn’t help my husband out with his work every once in a while? And don’t worry about those two, they know exactly what they’re getting into.”

Lucina hopped off the pegasus and stepped forward with a gentle smile on her face. “Yes, we’re happy to help as much as you need, Uncle. Thank you for having us.”

“We’re just happy to be here!!” Cynthia chirped as she tied up her pegasus to a nearby post.

“I’m sure it’ll be a nice change of pace from the work we normally do at the castle.” Lucina winced just a little, looking slightly sheepish. “Though I’m afraid we don’t have much experience with farm work, so I don’t know how helpful we’ll be.”

“Oh, I ain’t worried ‘bout that at all, I’m sure y’all’ll be a big help! The last round of farmhands jus’ packed up, so there really ain’t a whole lot left to do, jus’ a lil’ bit a’ weedin’ an’ roundin’ up the last a’ the seeds fer next year’s plantin’.” He grinned brightly. “Now both a’ y’all come on over here an’ give yer uncle Donny a big hug. I’ve not seen ya in ages!”

Cynthia practically squealed as she rushed over into Donnel’s arms. Lucina was a lot more reserved about joining the group hug, but Lissa could tell that she was excited about it too, and it made her smile.

Once they’d all had their fill of reunion hugs, Donnel said, “Alright, now I’m sure y’all’re mighty tired from yer trip, so we can get to work tomorrow. Fer now why don’t we get y’all unpacked an’ settled in. I can take yer pegasus to the stables once we’re all finished.” Much to Lissa’s relief, they weren’t going to be staying in the farmhouse. Instead, Donnel led them a bit of a ways up a hill to his proper lord estate. It was still pretty small by noble standards, but that was to be expected considering he was such a minor lord, and _especially_ because he’d only earned his title through his marriage to Lissa and his friendship with Chrom. They wouldn’t want the other nobles thinking the Exalt was playing favorites. Not that that seemed to bother Donnel any. Lissa swore that he’d have the whole place torn down and just spend all his days in that tiny old shack if she didn’t insist on keeping it around for her visits (she loved Donnel but she didn’t think she’d ever get used to his, um… _humble_ lifestyle. She was a princess, after all!).

True to his word, they didn’t start working until the next day. Donnel took the three of them out to the fields and showed them how to gather the seeds from the ripe crops that were still there. It was messy work (and anyone that knew Lissa knew that she was _not_ fond of messy work), but it was nice and fulfilling and she got to spend time with her husband and nieces, so she managed. Besides, there was something about the monotony of it that she found comforting—the endless repetition eased her mind and made her troubles back in Ylisstol feel miles away (which, physically, they were). She knew that visiting Donnel was a good call.

A few hours into this and she and the girls began to feel quite tired. It didn’t help that a chilly wind kept blowing in from the north, making them shiver as they worked. Luckily, Donnel was merciful and realized the limits of his city-dwelling family, so he gathered them all inside for some water and a break, which they accepted happily. Lucina gladly gulped down the glass offered to her, wiping a few beads of sweat from her brow. “I have a new respect for you, Uncle Donnel. I never knew farm work could be so tiring—we’ve barely done anything and I’m already exhausted!”

“I agree!” Cynthia finished off her glass and stretched out her arms with a tired sigh. “Who knew picking out all those teensy tiny seeds would make me so pooped!”

Donnel chuckled good-naturedly. “Aw, don’t beat yerselves up, it jus’ takes some getting’ used to is all. I’ve had a _lot_ of practice.”

Lissa tried to enjoy the break as much as the others were, but now that her hands weren’t busy, she found her mind drifting back to all her old worries. Chrom definitely wasn’t taking good enough care of himself, even with Sumia and Frederick there to watch over him, He was probably still running himself ragged, working himself to bone because of his desperate fear that Robin was out there scared, alone, and in need of their help.

And what if he was right? What if their closest friend was lost somewhere out there, somewhere they couldn’t find, and he needed them? Winter was fast approaching, what if he didn’t have enough food or shelter? What if there was something they didn’t know about keeping him from coming back to them? What if he was sick or hurt or hungry or lonely?

What if she never got to see him again?

Lissa pushed that thought out of her mind. No, she couldn’t think like that. Robin was the strongest person she knew; he could pull through anything. He’d come back to them. She just knew it. Besides, worrying like that wasn’t her style—that was Maribelle’s job. She came here so she wouldn’t think about that kind of stuff in the first place! So she put it out of her mind and focused on enjoying the refreshing glass of water she’d been nursing and the light conversation with her family.

“Oh yeah, by the way, when were y’all gonna tell me that Robin’s back?”

Lissa choked, water spraying out of her mouth. Three pairs of wild eyes landed on Donnel as they all shrieked in unison, _“WHAT?!?!?!?!”_

Donnel looked between them, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What, didn’t y’all know? Gee, I figured ya did. I s’posed he’d already been up to yer neck of the woods.”

Lissa grabbed Donnel’s shoulders and spun him around to face her, heart pounding a mile a minute. “Donny, how do you know that?! Do you mean you’ve seen him?!”

He only looked more confused with every passing second. “Seen him? Well a’ course I’ve seen him! He came down to help me with the last of the harvest jus’ a couple a’ weeks ago! He was real nice ‘bout it all. Why, he even wore a mask an’ pretended to be somebody else so’s not to hurt my pride for needin’ my buddy to help bail me out of a pickle! I dunno much ‘bout all this lordly business, but I figure he was tryna look out fer me—I don’t care much what all them other high-falooting nobles thinka me, but it was still mighty nice a’ him to take it inta consid’ration.” He looked off to the side thoughtfully. “He was real ded’cated to that act a’ his—fer a second there I was almost convinced myself that he didn’t know who I was!” He laughed, but his brow furrowed again at the sight of Lissa, Lucina, and Cynthia’s grave faces. “What’s the matter? Why’re y’all lookin’ like y’all’ve seen a ghost?”

Lissa’s head swam, her thoughts running wild. Crap, they’d _forgotten to tell Donnel that they were on the lookout for Robin._ But if he’d just been there, then—and that’d mean—oh, she needed to sit down, the floor was swaying way too much.

Robin _was_ back. And he’d just slipped right through their fingers.


	14. Of Wild Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little bit longer than normal because writing it was probably some of the most fun I've had writing a chapter of a fic in a long while. That's also why this update is only two days after the last one. Enjoy! Please let me know what you think down in the comments!

Robin really didn’t know what to expect when winter finally hit, but it certainly didn’t involve his foot getting stuck in a fox den as he foraged for some last remaining berries while trying to fend off said fox with only a large stick. As he shook his unstuck leg and flung the stick around to detach the _surprisingly_ stubborn fox from his pant leg, he briefly contemplated what events in his life led him to this. It was hard to pinpoint the exact moment he became the type of man who gets stuck in animal dens and beats their inhabitants with sticks, but he figured that his decision to leave his weapons back at his campsite was a good start. Or maybe he could go back even further and look at his decision to forgo staying in an inn for the week with ample access to food, even though he knew the nights were getting colder and food was becoming scarcer. Maybe that was the moment he made his bed, but whenever it was, he now had to lie in it.

With one last swift hit to the head the thing _finally_ let go, but it stayed nearby, teeth bared and tail puffed up as it snarled at him. He couldn’t blame it, if a giant foot crashed into _his_ house, he’d probably be pretty agitated too. Unfortunately, as much as he wanted to leave this situation behind him, his foot was still stuck. He braced himself on a nearby tree, and using that leverage and a little bit of desperate force, he finally managed to pop his foot out. Unfortunately, his moment of triumph was cut short by the force of releasing his foot causing him to lose his balance and send him careening directly into a bush.

He groaned as the little twigs and thorns scarped against him. _‘I just can’t win, can I?’_ After the little break he had as a farmhand, the gods seemed to see it fit to make up for it by dumping as much misfortune on him as possible. He was cold, tired, and _starving._ With the light blanket of snow now covering everything, it had been extremely difficult for him to find any edible plant life, even more so to find anything that wasn’t already dead from the cold. He was right in thinking that his trapping skills would fail him—they already had. At most he’d caught one or two particularly unobservant rabbits, but that was it., He was starting to get desperate, and he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t making him go… a little crazy.

He pulled himself up out of the bush, dusting the leaves and branches off of his clothes. He cursed himself for leaving his sword back at the campsite. He could have had fox for dinner! Just then his stomach growled loudly, as though prompted by the thought of his lack of food. He let out a deep sigh. Okay, he needed to find something to eat fast. He continued to wander through the forest, eyes peeled for any stray nuts or berries that he could eat.

Eventually, he came across a tree with a rather sizable hole in it. A quick glance inside nearly had him salivating. There was _food._ Sure, it was just a few nuts, but it was still _food._ With the reckless abandon of a young child digging into a cookie jar, he stuck his hand inside the hole, clamoring around for the nuts. Instead of being awarded with pearls of round, nutty goodness, however, he was met with a sharp, stinging pain, causing him to cry out. He quickly retracted his hand, revealing the frothing, snarling face of an angry raccoon. _‘Gods, I hope that bite doesn’t give me rabies.’_

Now, a normal man in a normal situation would just walk away, perhaps try to locate some food somewhere else. However, Robin was not a normal man, and there was no way in _hell_ he was going to allow some disease-ridden bag of fleas to steal away food that _he_ found ~~(nevermind that he found it in his den).~~ He was _far_ too desperate to give up without a fight. Unfortunately, the raccoon must have thought the same thing, because it chose that moment to lung at him, hissing and snarling and desperately trying to bite Robin’s face off. He yelled and grabbed the raccoon with both hands frantically pulling and thrashing and stumbling about to no avail.

The thing dragged its gnarled claws down Robin’s cheek, catching on his lip. It scrambled up his face and clamped its jaws down on his ear, causing him to howl in pain right at the same time he lost his footing and tripped over a branch, sending him toppling to the ground. This position was even more advantageous for the raccoon, giving it full reign to scratch and claw and bite all over the expanse of Robin’s face. He didn’t know when he started screaming, but his voice was beginning to feel hoarse.

He yanked and yanked and yanked on the furry fucker as hard as his arms could muster, but that only served to aggravate it more, causing it to clamp down even harder on his ear. He grit his teeth and hissed in pain. Fuck, this wasn’t working, it was going to take his ear off soon if he didn’t do something. So he rolled up onto his knees and grabbed its muzzle, forcing its jaw open. Not the smartest move he’d ever made, but by some miracle it _worked._ He managed to detach the raccoon from his face and throw it to the ground. It whimpered.

“Ha! Take that you fat fuck!” Unfortunately, taunting it seemed to be a bad idea, as it immediately launched itself back at him, this time biting down on his arm. He leapt to his feet and whipped his arm around as hard as he could, yelling and raving like a lunatic all the while. He bashed it against a tree over and over, but all that gave him was a bruised elbow and a _royally_ pissed off raccoon. It snarled louder and bit down harder, digging its claws into the meat of his forearm.

“Oh, I swear to every single god in existence if you fuck up my coat I will skin you alive and turn you into a hat!” The threat had no effect on the raccoon, as it continued biting and clawing the shit out of his arm. He could taste the iron leaking into his mouth from all the cuts on his face. In a last-ditch effort, he spat the blood out of his mouth into its eyes, disorienting it enough for him to dislodge it and slam it back onto the ground.

The victory was short lived. It threw itself onto his foot and bit down on his ankle in _just_ the right way. He spat out a swear as he fell to the ground, curling up into a fetal position to clutch his surely bleeding ankle. Maybe it was time to make a strategic retreat. He gave the feral beast the nastiest, most hate-filled glare he could muster. “You win this round, you fat bastard, but I’ll be back.” And with that last threat, he forced himself back onto his feet and hobbled off back to his campsite, more than just his body wounded.

* * *

After tending to his ankle and other cuts, making sure none of them got infected, he decided that perhaps he was going about this in all the wrong way. It was winter, so there’d be hardly anything to forage—he should try ice fishing. There was a river not too far from his campsite, and his hook making skills far surpassed his trapping. So he fashioned a makeshift pole out of some branches and leftover twine he had from pitching his tent and crafted himself some fishing hooks before setting off for the river (bringing his sword this time).

Once he got to the river, he found a spot he deemed suitable for ice fishing and cut a moderate-sized hole in the ice with his sword. He then cast his line and waited. And waited. And waited. But he could be patient; he had all the time in the world.

…That was, until his stomach started to growl again. _Loudly._ Gods, he wouldn’t be surprised if the unholy sound scared away any potential fish. The hunger was starting to be too much to bear. He was so out of focus, that he didn’t even realize when a fish finally started pulling on his rod.

The harsh tugging eventually pulled him out of his stupor, and he leapt to his feet, excitement and hope overshadowing his hunger. He pulled and pulled and pulled, crazed with the need to bring back literally _any_ food to his campsite. Shit, whatever he hooked must’ve been a _monster—_ the thing was practically bending his pole in half! He tugged with all his might, desperation fueling him. Unfortunately, pulling on a poorly made fishing pole constructed with nothing but sticks and string while it was already under pressure made it liable to… break. And break it did, snapping in half with a deafening, hope-shattering _crack._ To add insult to injury, the broken remains of the rod flew into the hole, and the force of the pole breaking sent Robin falling flat on his ass onto the ice.

Instead on meeting solid ice when he fell, however, he crashed through into the freezing river, glacial waters soaking through his coat and skin and down into his bones. He thrashed and flailed about wildly. At least he was a fairly decent swimmer, having grown up on an island, so he was able to swim back up to the edge of the hole and hoist himself onto the ice, dripping wet and feeling as heavy as a sack of bricks. He coughed out some water that had gotten into his lungs and spent the next few seconds lying there, gasping for breath like he’d just been strangled.

He groaned, letting his head fall back on the ice. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the sky, clear and blue with a light smattering of fluffy clouds. Something about the serene sight when he was so miserable enraged him, pushing him over the boiling point. “IS THIS WHAT YOU WANTED, NAGA?!?!?!” he shouted up into the heavens. “TO CREATE A BROKEN HUSK OF A MAN?!?! WELL YOU DID IT!!! YOU SUCCEEDED!!! I HAVE OFFICIALLY _GIVEN UP!!!!”_

He pulled himself to his feet, swaying a little. He grabbed a rock from the ground and lobbed it at a nearby tree. It collided with a satisfying sound, and it made him feel slightly better. Not much though. He dug his hands into his hair, resisting the urge to pull it out (he was vaguely aware that it had grown quite a bit longer than he remembered it being). _“GODS,_ WHAT’S EVEN THE _POINT_ ANYMORE?!?! I SWEAR I’M _CURSED!!!”_

He plopped down on the riverbank and buried his face in his hands. Now he was cold, tired, starving, _and_ sopping wet. He didn’t dare to say it, but he privately wondered if it was even possible for things to get any worse.

He was fully prepared for lightening to strike him (it’d be such a perfect irony he might’ve actually started crying), but all he heard was a wet slapping noise. And he felt a strange… wiggling against his thigh. He reached into his coat pocket and gasped when he pulled out a single, tiny fish. It must’ve gotten caught in his pocket when he fell in. It wasn’t much, but it was something, and he allowed it to brighten his mood just a little.

Of course, later that night as he sat in front of his campfire with nothing to show from his entire day of foraging except one meager roasted fish barely bigger than his thumb, he found it difficult to feel grateful. He ate it, obviously, but his stomach still growled in protest.

He sighed as he stared into the fire. As cold as it was, he knew he couldn’t keep his sopping wet coat on lest he contract hypothermia, so he hung it above the fire to dry. Unfortunately, he had no other clothes to change into, so he was stuck in his soaking shirt and pants, not to mention that his hair was still dripping. At least the freezing cold water somewhat soothed and numbed the scratches and bites on his face, arms, and legs, so that was a plus, he supposed.

A harsh gust of wind blew past him and he shivered violently, longing for his warm coat to pull around himself. Robin liked to think that he was pretty tough—he’d been through a lot in his life physically, mentally, and emotionally—but this might break him. Sitting in the snow sopping wet, cold and tired and hungry and alone, he didn’t think he’d ever felt so miserable in his life. He wasn’t a man that was easily broken, but in that moment, he really felt like pulling his knees into his chest, burying his face in them, and breaking down into tears.

A shuffling in the bushes caused his hair to stand on end and his ears to perk up. Slowly, he reached for his sword and grabbed the hilt, rising to his feet and creeping over to the source of the sound. He swore if he had to fight off _another_ godsdamned risen that had materialized in this creepy ass forest on top of everything else that had happened that day he was going to jump off of a fucking bridge. Then again, maybe beating the shit out of an undead monster would help relieve some of the stress he was under. He gripped his sword a little tighter, raised it in the air, and pushed aside the undergrowth to reveal………….

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. But he didn’t let down his guard just yet, taking a few moments to scan the darkness warily. Knowing his luck, a risen would jump out at him the second he put his sword down. “Come out come out wherever you are you motherfucker,” he muttered under his breath.

Only once he was completely certain there was nothing there did he lower his sword, letting out a sigh. Perhaps the universe was giving him a break after the royally shitty day he had—it was probably just a squirrel or something. Still, it would have been nice to catch it, then maybe he could’ve had a real dinner. He sighed again and turned back around, intending to go back to wallowing by the fire, when he caught sight of something interesting in the corner of his eye. One the ground right by his feet there lay a pile of assorted nuts and berries, arranged neatly on a couple leaves, as though they were being presented on a plate. His heart leapt at the discovery. It was incredibly strange, but he was far too hungry to question where it came from—perhaps the gods had taken his plea from earlier to heart and had given him a gift.

He snatched up the pile and took it back over to his fire, digging into it like a ravenous feral animal (which, honestly, he was becoming less and less distinguishable from with every passing day). The discovery wasn’t much, but it was enough to stave off the never-ending rumble of his stomach for now, and he decided that that was enough for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Robin: I have a question.... for God. _WHHHHHYYYYYYYYYYYY?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!_


	15. Snow on the Ice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Miriel made me bust out a thesaurus for the first time in my life, boosting my word count by hundreds. That is why this update isn't the most timely, figuring out how to sound smart drained me of all energy. Nevertheless, enjoy! I really like this chapter, and I hope you will too. Please let me know what you think down in the comments!

Kellam had heard stories of great Ylissean heroes that had fallen into squalor—knights and nobles and scholars who’s lives eventually fell to ruin. He never used to understand how that was possible, how such strong, accomplished, revered figures could become so pitiful, reduced to living in shacks and begging on street corners. But watching one of the greatest tacticians Ylisse had ever known lose a fight to a raccoon over three walnuts, the stories suddenly made a lot more sense.

He winced as he heard Robin let out a cry of pain as the raccoon bit down on his ear, sending him to the ground. Kellam glanced over at him family hiding with him in the bushes. “Um, guys? Are you sure it’s okay to just… _leave_ him like this? Shouldn’t we… I don’t know, help him a little?”

“Now, now Kellam, I’ve expounded upon this topic of your sentiments a multitude of times. To offer our assistance in any capacity would notify the subject of our habitation among the copse, thus jeopardizing the integrity of this observational experiment and rendering its results obsolete.” Miriel didn’t even look up from her notepad as she responded, continuing to scribble furiously.

“Mother is correct, Father.” Laurent at least spared him a brief glance before returning to his notes. “As morally distressing as it may be to observe your friend suffer like this without offering any assistance, I’m afraid the nature of our mission requires our lack of interference. We can’t possibly properly assess the situation unless we remain concealed. Do you not recall how he reacted the last time he saw you, Father? He is obviously in a very volatile mental state.”

Kellam cringed a little at the mention of it—his chest still stung a bit from that thoron blast Robin gave him a couple months ago. He’d been so surprised that Robin would just _attack_ him like that, and damn did it hurt. He had to admit that Laurent was right in that regard—he obviously wasn’t in his right mind back then, and by the looks of things he wasn’t in his right mind now either. Honestly, remembering the incident made him feel more than just a little bad about himself knowing that the man who almost killed him was now losing a fight to a raccoon.

“Astute observation, Laurent,” Miriel said. “Approaching him directly would undoubtedly only amount to the repetition of such an unsavory event. Perhaps this time in his desperation he may succeed in mortally wounding you. The most secure and pragmatic course of action is to continue our concealment.”

“I know, but still…” No matter that he knew logically they were right (they were _always_ right, all the time—it could get a little tiring living with two geniuses), but it still felt so wrong to just _allow_ one of his closest friends (not to mention one of Ylisse’s most respected military officials) to suffer like this.

 _Aaaand_ now he was on the ground, frantically trying to yank the raccoon off of his face. Oh gods, that had to hurt.

“His first mistake was discarding the stick. Had it still been in his possession this altercation could have been over a lot sooner.”

“Not incorrect, Laurent, however I believe the primary cause of this prolonged confrontation was his neglecting to properly procure his sword before setting out on his excursion.”

Kellam could only sigh. It looked like there really was nothing he could do except sit and watch. Robin had managed to get it off of him now, and while Kellam was a touch surprised at the usually so unruffled man’s use of expletives, he still felt glad for him. Unfortunately, it didn’t last long, as now the raccoon latched itself onto his arm, causing him to spring to his feet and flail about wildly. It was almost kind of pitiful, really. Robin then spat out a mouthful of blood into the thing’s face, finally causing it to let go. Kellam’s nose scrunched up. “Ew. That was kinda gross.”

Miriel had a similar look of disgust on her face, though more reserved. “Unorthodox and quite a bit crude, however I suppose it proved fruitful in its results.” She looked away from the unsavory sight of blood droplets dripping down Robin’s chin to jot a few more things down in her notes.

Kellam winced as the raccoon chomped down on Robin’s ankle, sending him right back to the ground. He sent a tentative glance towards Mirel and Laurent. “…Are you _sure_ we can’t help him?”

They responded simultaneously. _“No.”_

* * *

Gods, Robin was actually sort of starting to s _care_ Kellam. Not that he was doing anything particularly scary—it was just frightening how _horrendously bad_ his luck was. First the fox, then the raccoon, and now he’d fallen flat on his ass and broken through several layers of ice into a freezing river. And by the looks of it, he still had absolutely no food to show for it.

Miriel looked up from her notes at the sound of Robin crashing into the river, an impassive expression on her face. She sighed. “Well, the subject made a valiant effort—I must admit that the idea to attempt ice fishing was replete with ingenuity.”

“Unfortunately, we neglected to take into account the great breadth of the subject’s rampant misfortune,” Laurent added.

“Would you two please stop calling him that?” Kellam pleaded weakly, knowing that it was highly improbable they’d actually heed his request. “He’s not some random lab rat or guinea pig—he’s _Robin,_ our _friend._ It’s making me kind of uncomfortable to hear you guys talk about him like that.”

Miriel cocked her head to the side slightly. “But we are conducting an observational experiment, are we not? It is only appropriate to utilize the correct terminology for the duration of the data collection. We may be colleagues with an amicable relationship, however that does not alter the authenticity of this experiment. Indeed, it is even more necessary for us to maintain the proper amount of impartiality due to out affable relationship with the subject, lest out judgement be impaired and our results skewed, thus culminating in a hypothesis not based in fact and even further limiting our understanding of the situation at hand. Employing language proper of a scientific study is merely a safeguard to the bias that it is of upmost importance to avoid.”

It took Kellam a few second to fully process what his wife had just said (six years of marriage didn’t make her any easier to understand), but when he did he let out a sigh. “I… guess that makes sense, but I still don’t like it. Robin is our dear friend and trusted ally—it feels wrong to be impartial about this. Dehumanizing, almost.”

“Nevertheless, it is necessary.” Miriel quipped (not unkindly, she just sort of always sounded a bit curt). “I understand your sentiments, and I will not force you to follow suit, however Laurent and I will continue to speak in an unbiased manner, correct?” She sent a glance to Laurent’s direction.

He nodded once. “Of course, Mother.”

The sound of Robin’s half-crazed raving drew the three’s attention back to their “subject.” Oof, this was sad to watch (not as sad as the raccoon fight, but still, watching him scream at the sky was a close second). He planted himself in snow and buried his face in his hands, and Kellam was tempted to ask if they couldn’t offer just a _little_ help again when Robin pulled out a tiny fish from his coat pocket.

Laurent shrugged. “Well, I suppose that’s something.”

* * *

Kellam finally managed to break Miriel’s firm resolve later that evening as they watched Robin stare blankly into his campfire, looking more miserable than any other man Kellam had seen in his life. After a particularly loud growl from Robin’s stomach she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose in exasperation. “Fine. You may offer him a small portion of our rations as assistance; however, you are to remain _completely unseen.”_

Kellam couldn’t help the giddy grin that grew on his face. “I can definitely do that.”

He gathered together a little pile of assorted nuts and berries they’d brought along with them for snacks and stacked them neatly onto a makeshift plate made of leaves. As quietly as he could (which was _very_ quietly), he creeped forward to a thicket of bushes a little closer to Robin. He gently set the leaf plate down and purposefully rustled the bushes a bit to get his attention. However, he failed to realize just how far away he was from his family’s hiding place, and he quickly realized he wouldn’t have enough time to get back as Robin rose to his feet, taking his sword in hand.

Damn it damn it damn it damn it damn it, Robin was going to see him and attack him and he wasn’t totally certain he could survive another encounter with the skilled swordsman and mage and even if he somehow _did_ survive Miriel was going to be _furious_ with him for ruining her experiment and she’d give him the biggest earful of his life, making him wish he hadn’t. Just before Robin pulled back the foliage, he did the only thing he could think of: he turned slightly to the side and prayed that his tried-and-true ~~curse~~ trick would work.

Robin yanked back the branches and scanned the area… looking right past Kellam. He almost sighed with relief, his heart pounding a mile a minute, but he wasn’t out of the woods yet. Robin stayed for an _agonizingly_ long period of time, his sword raised and ready to strike. He heard him mutter under his breath, “Come out come out wherever you are you motherfucker,” which did nothing to ease his anxiety.

Eventually, Robin sighed and began to turn away. Before he got very far, though, he finally saw the gift Kellam left for him. Like a wild animal, he scooped it up, scurried back to his campfire, and immediately began to scarf it down. Only then did Kellam allow himself to breath a sigh of relief. Watching Robin, he felt a pang in his heart. _‘We’ll find a way to help you, Robin. I promise.’_

* * *

When a letter from Miriel arrived at the castle addressed to her and Chrom, Sumia immediately took it upon herself to bring it to her husband directly. It wasn’t often that _Mirel_ of all people wrote to them, what with how busy she and Laurent were managing the Records Hall, and with all the chaos surrounding Robin’s almost definite return, contact from any of the Shepherds made her heart skip a beat. Who knew what Mirel had to tell them? So she barged into Chrom’s study without a second thought to deliver it to him.

He looked up from his paperwork, surprised. “Sumia? Is something wrong?”

“Oh no, no.” She was quick to assuage his fears. “A letter came from Miriel for us and it looks pretty important. Would you like me to read it to you?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Miriel? I’m sure it is important then.” He pushed his paperwork to the side, giving her his full attention. “Read away.”

She smiled. “Okay.” She then cleared her throat and began to read.

_“To Exalt Chrom and Queen Sumia,_

_“As we are currently in a time of great confusion and crisis, I feel it would be most judicious of me to swiftly cut to the heart of my reasoning for addressing this letter to you. I am writing to inform you that, in light of all the recent reports of sighting of Robin exhibiting strange behavior, I took it upon myself to conduct a private observational study. My family and I managed to locate his campsite near the eastern border, a residence that will undoubtably be vacated by the time this missive reaches you. In order to avoid further instances of altercation, we did not approach him. In my observations, I have concocted a hypothesis that through further research has proven to be very plausible._

_“It is by belief that Robin has once again contracted amnesia, by what method, I currently am unaware. However, this appears to be a rather peculiar case of memory loss, being that while his recollection of his time in the employ of the Shepherds has been inhibited, his memory of his life beforehand has been restored. This complies with the account of Libra and Cherche’s interaction with him, where he described past events in his life with vivid detail yet did not appear to have any recollection of who they were. Upon further research, I was able to confirm that the alias he offered them during this encounter, Deryn, was one often used by a traveling mercenary and merchant clerk who matches Robin’s description identically. On a further note, I also confirmed that there was a young man also closely matching Robin’s description attending a prestigious magic academy in Valm while he would have presumably been of university age, though noticeably younger of course. However, this student went by the name of Claude, though considering Robin’s newly discovered penchant for aliases, I find it highly likely that they are the same person, further verifying Libra and Cherche’s account of their conversation._

_“In light of this hypothesis, I propose that we exert an extreme amount of caution henceforth. Robin has already proven to be volatile, and I have little doubt he would not hesitate to cut down any of us should we approach him, causing him to become threatened. At the current moment, it is in our best interest to monitor him from afar as much as possible until we either discover a remedy for his condition or he proves to no longer behave in a hostile manner towards members of the Shepherds._

_“Of course, this is not my only prediction, however I find it to be the most plausible one. If you would be interested in educating yourselves on these other possible theories, I have attached several documents expounding upon them in critical detail._

_“Cordially, Miriel Fischl.”_

True to her word, Miriel had attached, gods, _five pages_ of other theories she came up with. Just looking at them started to give Sumia a headache, and if Miriel thought the one written about in her letter was the most likely, she’d believe her.

After Sumia finished reading the letter, Chrom was eerily silent, his hands folded on top of his desk and an unreadable expression on his face. A twinge of worry struck Sumia’s heart, not an uncommon feeling for her these days. “Chrom, honey, are you alright?”

He was quiet for a few agonizing moments more. Finally, he spoke, saying only, “I have so much work to do.”


	16. Fiery Resistance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for a bit of a slower update than usual and that it's so short. Next chapter will probably be a little bit longer though! I hope you enjoy!

Robin supposed his luck wasn’t _so_ bad, after all; at least things hadn’t gotten much worse. He was still cold, but the air was getting warmer as he traveled further into the heart of Ylisse, and even more bearable still as he crossed the center of the country to make his way towards the Plegian border. He still had quite a ways to go—at least another week before he arrived in Themes—but he was getting there. The knowledge that he was steadily making progress towards uncovering some answers lifted his spirits. And, hey, he hadn’t been chased out of any cities since Regna Ferox, so that was a plus.

He was relieved to see the snow melting as he trekked throughout the countryside, a surefire indicator that he was heading the right way. He hadn’t slept well the night before, still confined to his tent on the cold, hard ground, but he had decided to be stubbornly positive. Nothing would be gained by being miserable all the time. So even though he felt like passing out on his feet and his back ached in more places than he could count, he refused to be too upset about it. Just one more week on the road and then he’d be in Themes, then he’d have the chance to figure out what the hell he did to put him on the run and, with any luck, figure out a way to track down that elusive Ylissean tactician.

At some point along his journey, he stumbled upon a wide, beat up, open field, likely some sort of unused patch of land belonging to a local noble. There was nothing particularly noteworthy about it other than its massive size and the small smattering of budding flowers beginning to poke out of the wet, rugged earth. He briefly wondered why any lord would just leave a piece of land as large as this completely empty when it could surely be utilized for something productive, but it was a fleeting thought—the notion not interesting enough to hold his attention for long. There was no sign of guards or human inhibition of any kind, so he decided it’d be fine to walk right through it.

He heard a rustling in the trees to his side. He reached for the pommel of his sword, cursing both his luck and his carefree attitude which placed him in such a vulnerable, open position with no cover to speak of. He eyed the rustling bushes warily for a long moment. He blinked in surprised when, instead of a guard or a risen, a young girl popped out.

He raised an eyebrow (both at the strangeness of her being there and at the fact she was half-naked). He supposed she was the daughter of some noble family in the area, what with her colorful, elaborate clothes, and he decided to pay her no mind. He had places to be, ground to cover—he couldn’t concern himself with some random child. So he only gave her a cursory glance before letting go of his sword and continuing on his way.

Unfortunately, things could never be that simple, could they? He heard the little girl gasp so loudly it was almost comical, and before he knew it, he was stopped in his tracks by a surprisingly strong tugging on his coat sleeve. “Oh my gods, it’s you! It’s really you! You’re here! Now we can finally play!”

Robin resisted the urge to groan. He was never the best with kids, certainly not ones as energetic as this one seemed to be. And even more than that, she obviously recognized him, probably from one of the wanted posters plastered in every town he’d been to (he’d taken down all of the ones he’d seen, but he was certain there were hundreds more throughout all the towns and villages of Ylisse). He _really_ didn’t have time for this, so, at the risk of looking like a giant asshole, he ignored her completely, continuing to walk.

“Hey, don’t ignore me!” the girl pouted, puffing out her cheeks. “You can be such a meanie, Robin!” Her tugging on his sleeve grew more insistent, making it very difficult for him t carry on as though she weren’t there.

He sighed heavily. _‘This kid’s parents should really teach her not to talk to strangers, especially ones on wanted posters.’_ “I’m sorry, but I have someplace to be, I can’t play with you right now.”

“But why _noooooot?”_ she whined, and Robin nearly winced at the shrill sound. “You’re no fun Robin! You never want to play with me! What do you need to do that’s so important?”

Who the hell was this kid? ‘Never?’ He found it pretty damn strange for a child’s imaginary friend to be a random outlaw from a wanted poster, but he sure as hell didn’t know who she was, so that must’ve been the case. Perhaps he’d met her at some point during the eight-year void in his memory, but what were the odds of that? He didn’t like the idea of being mean to a kid, but he didn’t want to delay his arrival in Themes any further. Besides, what if her parents or a servant or something showed up and reported him to the local guard? Hanging around just wasn’t an option. Maybe if he acted irritable enough she’d become upset with him and leave him alone. “Look, kid, I have no idea who you are, and you really shouldn’t be talking to strangers. I’m busy. And where are your parents? You shouldn’t be wandering around out here alone, it’s dangerous.”

She blinked up at him, brows furrowing in confusion. “What are you talking about Robin, it’s me, Nowi! How could you say something so mean?”

Nowi? He was positive he’d never met anyone by that name before, certainly not a child. This kid was _really_ starting to get on his nerves—why was she so insistent about playing with _him_ specifically anyway? He doubted he’d ever understand children. “I’m sorry, but I’ve never met you before in my life. Now, if you’ll _excuse me,_ as I said, I am very busy.” He finally managed to yank his sleeve away from her iron grip and brush her off.

She stomped her foot like a toddler throwing a tantrum, her cheeks puffing out and face reddening. “I can’t _believe_ you! To act like you don’t know who I am after we’ve been _such_ good friends for _such_ a long time! _I HATE YOU ROBIN YOU’RE THE WORST FRIEND IN THE WORLD!!!!!”_

He sighed, not sparing her any more of his attention. That was completely fine with him. If she decided she hated him now, then he could go. It didn’t make her incessant screaming any less irritating, though.

_“GAWDS YOU MAKE ME SO MAD I COULD JUST…! JUST…! AAAAAARRRRAAAAHHHHGGGG!!!!”_

He was fully prepared to completely ignore her ranting and carry on to the other side of the field, but the sudden appearance of a large shadow stretching out in front of him had him pausing. He slowly looked up.

 _“YOU’RE GOING TO PAY FOR BEING SUCH A MEANIE ROBIN!!!”_ screeched the giant, yellow, bloodthirsty dragon that hung in the air behind him, exactly where the young girl had been standing.

A huge ball of fire came hurtling towards him, missing his head by mere inches. He screamed, life returning to his body, and he _ran._ A dragon!?!?! A _fucking DRAGON!?!?!?!?!_ That annoying, clingy, delusional little girl was a _MOTHERFUCKING FIRE-BREATHING **DRAGON?!?!?!?!?!?** ‘You have GOT to be KIDDING ME!!!!’ _he thought in pure terror as he bolted across the field, his arms swinging wilding up to his face.

He’d thought he’d gotten pretty used to running, and that he’d gotten pretty good at it too. But he was quickly learning that running from law enforcement and running from a _giant fucking dragon that spit fire_ were two _completely_ different things. His heart hammered in his chest, though he had no idea what for, since there was _zero_ blood in his face. He wouldn’t have been surprised if he dropped dead of a heart attack right then and there, and he was almost shocked he didn’t when another ball of fire swung by his head, singeing the tips of his hair. Since _WHEN_ did _SMALL CHILDREN_ have the ability to turn into _GODS-DAMNED **DRAGONS?!?!?!?!**_

He didn’t have much time to contemplate the question, unfortunately, considering the torrents of flaming death falling all around him, sending rocks and debris scattering all about as they blew humongous craters into the earth. He didn’t know when he started screaming, but his throat ached almost as much as his legs did as they pounded against the ground.

Dread consumed him as his foot caught on a rock, sending him tumbling face first onto the ground. He scurried up onto his hands and knees and flipped over, staring down the smoking muzzle of certain death, slowly approaching. His heart hammered in his chest. _‘Oh gods oh gods oh gods no of all the ways I want to die being roasted alive is **not** in the top ten oh gods oh gods oh go—_

Wait. An idea sprung to life in his mind. It was crazy, hairbrained, and he only had once chance, but if he was going to die than he’d rather die on his feet that lying on his ass. He’d done something like this once before, years and years ago, so it wasn’t impossible, but it’d be a miracle if he managed to pull it off.

He quickly scribbled a shaky sigil in the dirt next to him, intentionally leaving it incomplete. He slammed his hand down to activate it, covering his ears and squeezing his eyes shut as quickly as possible before the affects took place as he rolled into a crater. Even with his ears covered and eyes closed he could still see the light of the blinding flash and hear the deafening ringing along with Nowi’s screech of alarm. He hurriedly tossed a handful of dirt onto his back and rolled onto his stomach, curling into as tight of a ball as he could. He frantically activated his cloak’s concealment charm, willing with every fiber of his being for it to change its pattern and texture to look like a rock.

The flashbang finally faded, and he heard Nowi groan in disorientation. He held stock still, holding his breath as her wings flapped groggily overhead right by where he was hiding. “Ooohhh…” she groaned. “Where… where did he go? He was… he was just here…”

It wasn’t until long after the flapping of her wings faded into the distance that Robin finally allowed himself to breathe. He uncurled himself, collapsing onto his back in relief, his heart still beating a mile a minute. He let out a long breath. That was _way_ too close. He ended up having to push his coat further than it was ordinarily capable of, and he’d no doubt damaged the magic sigils carefully woven into its seams. His mother would have been furious.

He sighed heavily. The thought saddened him greatly, but he really had no choice. It was either that or be turned into a charred heap of melted flesh. He hoped that his mother would forgive him, of only because he had done it to protect himself. He probably wouldn’t be able to activate the concealment charm for at least a couple days, but hopefully it’d become usable again after that, if not as powerful.

One thing was for certain; without the ability to rely on his coat, he needed to be even _more_ careful, not that that’d done him much good so far. And it would also seem prudent to be wary of any children he came across.


	17. Ricken's Apprentice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so much longer to get out than most, but it's over twice as long as normal so I hope that evens it out! Enjoy! Let me know what you think in the comments!

Robin desperately needed a bath. After all the mucking around in a forest and rolling around in the dirt while running from that manakete (he realized later that it was probably a manakete, though he didn’t believe they actually existed before now), he was starting to feel… not so fresh. Sure, he’d taken a few dips in nearby rivers or ponds whenever he got the chance to rinse off some of the grime that had collected on his skin, but he needed _soap._ Warm water. And also maybe a hairbrush. He was shocked when he saw his reflection in a little puddle of melting snow—he looked like a completely different person! His hair had grown _much_ longer than the nice crop he usually kept it at, now reaching down past his shoulders (he was certain it’d be even longer once he untangled it and brushed it all out). His skin was just slightly darker than before as well, but whether that was due to some subtle tanning or just dirt that had caked onto him was anybody’s guess. He also looked… tired. Of course, he _felt_ tired, but it was strange to see that he looked like it too. He almost didn’t recognize himself.

It was jarring, but he had to admit that it was probably a good thing. It even he was having trouble identifying his own reflection, then there was even less of a chance of a guard doing so, especially when he still had the mask. At least he wouldn’t suffer too bad from losing his coat’s concealment powers for the time being. It had reverted back to its strange, arcane eye pattern which had always vexed him—there was certainly nothing like it in Ghenna, so he couldn’t help but wonder where his mother got it from, not that she ever answered when he asked. The thought brought a small smile to his face. His mother always did love her secrets.

Nevertheless, the pattern was far too distinctive for him to be wearing when he was out and about near prying eyes, so he lovingly tucked it away into his bag for the time being until the magic returned to it. It was still a little chilly, but he’d manage.

It didn’t take him long to stumble upon civilization after his altercation with the manakete. The field seemed to have been on the outskirts of some noble house’s territory, as he’d suspected, because after about only a half an hour of walking he found a bustling little town, and he could see a large estate sitting atop a hill a little ways off.

He paid the citizens no mind, and, luckily, they didn’t seem very interested in paying him any either. A stroke of good fortune in these trying times. However, as he weaved in and out of the throngs of people, he occasionally overheard some whisperings. Some very… _interesting_ whisperings.

_“…Sorry there’s not more in stock, business hasn’t been so good since the Duke up and vanished…”_

_“…Prices were never this high when the Duke was around…!”_

_“…Never would’ve been this shortage with the Duke up and kickin’…”_

_“…All prices are final… had’ta raise ‘em when the Duke left us…”_

The Duke? Hmm. While this town was certainly larger than many of the villages he’d been to, it definitely didn’t seem big enough to be a Dukedom. The closest Dukedom was Themes—perhaps that was the Duke they were talking about? The Duke of Themes? Yes, yes, the more he thought about it, it became clear that must be the case. This must be some minor lord’s territory within the Themes Dukedom. Those rumors could prove to be very useful information—he’d have to do some digging once he got to the main city. But the Duke disappeared? Or died, it seemed more likely? He found it strange he hadn’t heard about that sooner. A brief spike of terror struck him as he wondered if _he’d_ killed the Duke of Themes, and that was why the Duchess seemed to want him dead so badly. It’d certainly be a grievous enough offense to warrant a trans-continental manhunt for him. He tried to push the thought from his mind—that was ludicrous—but he couldn’t completely disregard the possibility…

He’d have to figure that out later. Hopefully, he’d figure out what exactly he did soon once he got to Themes. With all luck, his fears that he was guilty of assassination and treason would be assuaged.

He continued on his way through the town, eventually ducking back into the forest. He felt a lot safer now that he was away from all the people, even though none of them had paid him any attention (honestly, he was surprised they hadn’t—he looked like a deranged, unkempt wild man that hadn’t bathed in at least two weeks, not the most ordinary sight. He decided that his first order of business when he got to Themes would be to rent out a room and clean himself up a bit). After another while of walking, he stumbled upon a clearing. A spear of panic shot through him as he recalled his _last_ experience with a clearing in the woods, but he quickly calmed himself down. This field was much smaller than that one, far too small to be hiding a giant manakete, and it wasn’t completely empty. Off at the end of the field there were several targets and training dummies set up. By the singe marks on the dummies and the ground, he deduced that it was a practice field for in-training mages.

The sight filled him with an unexpected burst of nostalgia. When was the last time he’d seen something like this? Not since his academy days, if he was remembering correctly. _Those were certainly simpler times,’_ he mused. He could hardly believe where his life had gone since those days—he’d definitely never thought back then that he’d one day be living in the woods as a fugitive. The thought was sobering.

He walked up to one of the targets and brought his hand up to its seared edge, contemplative. Where had the time gone? It felt like just yesterday he too was just a plucky young mage, full of grief at the loss of his mother and conviction to see her dreams through, to make her hopes for him a reality. He hoped that she would be proud of him.

It was strange for him to feel so wistful—reminiscing was never his favorite pastime, he’d always much preferred to think of the future. In the spirit of the odd occurrence, he decided it wouldn’t do any harm to practice his aim a little, for old time’s sake. So he walked over back to the white line drawn on the grass, pulled out his thoron time, and summoned a few bolts, sending them shooting towards the targets.

They sizzled straight into the dead center, as expected. It was a simple exercise, but he couldn’t help but feel just a little proud, mentally patting himself on the back for the accomplishment. He’d almost forgotten how satisfying something as simple as hurling lightning at targets could be. Well… he wasn’t in _that_ much of a hurry, was he? He certainly had a few extra seconds to spare, didn’t he? He figured he deserved a short moment of fun after all the hell he’d been through. So he allowed himself to throw a few more thoron blasts at the targets.

“You’re eager, aren’t you?”

Robin jumped, whipping around to face a smiling young man with long, reddish brown hair and a large floppy hat. He laughed good-naturedly. “Oh, did I startle you? I’m sorry, that wasn’t my intention, you must be that new apprentice that was supposed to show up soon, though I have to say I didn’t expect you to show up a day early, or get straight to work for that matter.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m the lord of this area, though you can just call me Ricken. Good to meet you.”

Robin stared at his outstretched hand for a moment, processing. Apprentice? Lord? Shit, he didn’t have much of a choice other than to play along with it; at least he didn’t seem to recognize him—yet. He took his hand, shaking it. “G-good to meet you too. I’m Deryn.”

Ricken smiled. “Glad to have you aboard, Deryn. I’m sorry if you waited long—I’m afraid I’ve been run a little ragged at work lately. Oh! Not that I’d let that get in the way of teaching you, of course! I promise to give you the very best instruction I can!” he amended quickly. Upon closer inspection, Robin noticed that he _did_ look a bit ragged—hair tousled underneath his hat and the faint shadow of bags under his eyes. He could’ve fooled him, what with that friendly demeanor. Robin almost felt kind of bad for him, especially since he was obviously significantly younger than him.

Ricken took a step away, clapping his hands together. “So Deryn, I take it you already have some magic experience?”

Robin wanted to laugh, but he needed to keep up this ruse for a little longer until he could slip away. _‘More than you could possibly know, kid.’_ “Yes, a bit,” he lied through his teeth instead. “Though nothing formal.”

“That’s good, that’s good,” Ricken mused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “That means we have a base to work with.” He laughed a little. “Hey, from what I saw you seem to have a pretty good grasp on lightning magic already, so congratulations. That’s no small feat.” He glanced over at the singed target Robin had been practicing with, an impressed look on his face. “I’m amazed at your control, especially for a beginner. Usually novices start out with fire magic.”

Robin didn’t have to lie to explain that one. “Thank you, my mother’s specialty was lightning, so I suppose I wanted to follow in her footsteps.”

Ricken smiled. “That’s wonderful. Anyway, you must be tired from training and traveling. I’ll show you to the apprentice quarters and we can eat dinner together if you like.”

Robin blanched. “Oh no, no, no, that’s alright, I’m sure you’re a very busy man—I wouldn’t want to monopolize your time.”

“Don’t worry, it’s no trouble.” He smiled genially. “I always like to get to know my apprentices a bit before we start working together. Besides, my wife and daughter are both out for the day, so honestly you’d be doing me a favor by not making me eat alone.” He chuckled lightly.

Robin cursed this boy and his good-natured generosity. Well, he couldn’t watch him _all_ night—he’d just have to slip away after dinner. And he couldn’t say that the thought of a warm meal wasn’t tempting…

* * *

Ricken took Robin to a little cabin deeper in the woods where they ate together (apparently the seclusion was supposed to help promote focus, but for Robin it would aid in his escape). He found that Ricken was a very pleasant young man, especially for a lord. He was far more formal than Donnel had been, but he was still quite friendly. On top of that, he obviously loved magic a great deal, further endearing him to Robin as it reminded him of himself when he was younger. He seemed like the kind of young man that Robin would have loved to teach, making the whole front of him pretending to be _his_ student rather laughable.

The meal was modest, but compared to the scraps he’d gotten used to eating it might as well have been a feast. He almost wished he didn’t have to leave so soon just so he could savor the experience of eating real food for once. Obviously, that was impossible, but it was a nice thought. After dinner, Ricken finally left, biding him a good night. Robin would have just bolted out into the woods the second he left, but one glance at the porcelain bathtub in the washroom made him weak. There was so much grime coasting his scalp his normally pristine, stark-white hair looked almost _gray._ He thanked the universe for at least offering him this chance to clean up. So he devoted a little over an hour to furiously scrubbing the gunk from his skin and hair, the feeling of warm water running over his scalp near heavenly. The hairbrush was an added bonus, and it turned out he was right—his hair was _quite_ a bit longer now that it was untangled, well past his shoulders (and it turned out his darkened skin was the result of dirt, not tanning). By the time he was finished it was pitch-black outside, and he almost felt like a normal person again.

After he had cleaned up, it was time for him to make his escape. The cover of darkness would be beneficial to him, though he doubted anyone would be wandering in the woods this late at night, least of all the lord. And, of course, since Robin was paranoid, he went to great lengths to avoid leaving through the door, lest there be some sort of sigil or something that would alert Ricken (he doubted he was the type to cage-in his apprentices, but one could never be too careful). Instead, he elected to exit through the window.

He had only just gotten his torso outside, his one leg still hooked over the windowsill, when he heard the sounds of footsteps and rustling leaves, accompanied by a soft yellow light. His pulse hammered as the light grew closer to reveal Ricken, his lantern illuminating the confused crease in his brow. “Deryn? What… are you doing…?”

Shit shit shit think of something fast. “O-oh, I, uh—” He cleared his throat nervously, praying that this boy was as gullible as he looked and would fall for his terrible lying abilities. “I was just, uh… about to go practice some illumination charms…! Night really is the best time for that sort of thing, you know? S-so, um… what are you doing out here this late…?” He hoped he didn’t notice the little crack in his voice.

Even in the dim light, Robin could see Ricken’s eyes light up in delight. “Oh, really? That’s a wonderful idea! I didn’t realize I’d been blessed with such a diligent student!” He laughed. “As for me, well… I just find that walking through the grounds when no one else is out to be calming. Takes my mind off of everything.” He got this tired, sort of far-off look on his face for a second, but it quickly evaporated, that enthusiastic interest back in his eyes once more (he really did look like some bright-eyed kid). “So, a light charm, huh? That’s a good place to start with non-tome-based magic, nice and simple. Why don’t you show me what you’ve got? Might be nice to have a supervisor.”

Robin could’ve groaned aloud with frustration. Of course he’d want to watch. He pulled his leg out through the window and dusted himself off, finally standing on two feet. Hopefully, he could impress him with his “novice” skill and then he’d buzz off so he could get the hell out of here. “Alright then,” he said, rubbing his hands together in preparation. “Here we go.” He quickly drew the proper sigil in the air (though not as quickly as he normally would, lest it be too painfully obvious that he wasn’t new to this). In a few seconds he’d conjured up a small ball of light with a soft blue glow, hovering a few inches above his hand.

Ricken clapped his hands together, a big grin on his face. “Wow, bravo! That was some very sophisticated sigil-work! Your mother must be quite the mage to teach you that kind of precision.”

_‘You have no idea.’_ “Thank you. She was.”

“Well, I’d say that was a productive exercise.” His brows creased slightly. “But you should really get back inside and get some rest. It can be dangerous out here at night, and there’s a lot we’re going to be doing tomorrow.”

“Yes, of course,” he lied. “Will you be getting back? Surely you need to get some sleep as well.” _‘Please say yes please say yes please say yes.’_

“No, not yet,” Ricken commented, casually crushing Robin’s hopes. “I think I’ll wander around for a little longer, enjoy the night air.”

Shit. There went his plans. He couldn’t very well risk getting caught again. Robin sighed internally. It seemed as though he’d have to wait to slip away until morning—he had no idea how late Ricken would be out and about, and he’d surely fall asleep before he’d feel confident to try sneaking out again. As the very least he’d get the chance to sleep in a real bed (damn, when was the last time he’d done _that?_ His aching back told him it’d been too long). He was resigned about it, but he tried his best to sound cordial when he nodded and said, “Alright, stay safe then. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight to you too. Oh, but wait!” Robin turned at Ricken’s sudden exclamation. “I just have one small question I’d like to ask you.”

Robin raised an eyebrow. “Hmm? Yes, what is it?”

“Why were you climbing out the window?”

* * *

Robin had been sleeping on the ground for so long that it almost hurt his back _worse_ to be in a real bed again. Of course, he was still immensely grateful, and he woke up feeling more refreshed than he had in months, perfect for figuring out how to trick Ricken into leaving him alone long enough for him to escape. Unfortunately, he seemed dead set on following him _fucking everywhere._ It wasn’t until a little after lunch when an orderly or something finally ushered him away to take care of some paperwork. Robin jumped on the chance.

He waited a few minutes in the cabin, watching Ricken and the orderly walk away to make absolutely _sure_ they were gone before he made any moves. Once he was, he jumped up out of his seat, snatched up his bad, and made a break for it into the woods. He almost felt a little bad for ditching Ricken like that, but only almost.

Unfortunately, Ricken wasn’t lying when he mentioned that these forests could be dangerous. No more than three minutes into his escape did a cloud of purple smoke begin to peek at the edges of his vision, and the echoey, unhuman grunts and groans of risen fill his ears. He groaned aloud. _‘Are you fucking kidding me?’_ There were only about three of them, but if Robin had learned anything about these weird purple freaks it was that there were _always_ more than the initial group. He wasn’t too concerned for his safety—a few bolts of thoron to the chest had each of them tumbling to the ground like a bag of cement—but the valuable run-away time it cut into was very irritation.

In fact, it cut into so much of his time, that by the time he finally finished disposing of all of them, Ricken had returned.

“Hey, what’re you doing over here? Are you okay, I heard a lot of noise,” he asked, his good intentions only serving to irk Robin further.

He had to grit his teeth as he forced a smile, hoping it looked easier than it felt. “Oh no, everything’s fine. Just thought I might get a little more practice in while you were working.”

Ricken raised his eyebrows, obviously impressed by his “work ethic.” “I see. You never rest, do you?” He chuckled. “Well then, how about I join you?”

Robin’s heart sank. But he’d still try to get him to leave him alone, no matter how futile it may seem. “Oh no, no I’m just doing some self-study out here, I can manage on my own. I wouldn’t want to monopolize _all_ of your time.” He forced out a small laugh (damn, either this kid was _really_ gullible or he’d gotten better at lying, the former seeming the more likely explanation). “Besides, I was practicing some more lightning magic, which is a far cry from wind. I don’t expect you to help much with something so different from your expertise.” It was a bit of a gamble, assuming that his specialty was wind magic, but by the rexcaliber tome he’d seen poking out of his bag he assumed it was a fair guess.

“Oh, you don’t need to worry about that at all!” Ricken chirped, a grin growing on his fact. “It just so happens that my teacher’s specialty was lightning magic, so even though it’s not my expertise, I still know a fair bit about it.”

Of _course_ his teacher’s specialty was lightning magic, why _wouldn’t_ it be. From the deepest recesses of his heart Robin cursed that teacher, and he swore if he had any idea who that person was he would have hexed them to hell and back his resentment was so great. Don’t get him wrong, Ricken was a nice guy, but the longer he stayed there the more dangerous things would become for him (also it didn’t help that every time he dawdled something terrible happened). But there was nothing he could do about it right then, so he just grit his teeth and tried to act pleasantly surprised. “Oh really? That’s great. Why don’t I just show you what I was doing then.” He may have been a little sloppy in his haste, but he hoped if he impressed Ricken enough they could be over with this quickly, so he flipped his thoron time to a specific page and activated the sigils drawn there. This caused a large, pulsing sphere or electricity to appear in front of him, and once he put his tome away, he was able to guide it with his hands, shrinking and expanding it with practiced control and focus. It would have been an incredibly difficult task for a novice, the intense focus it required normally being far too much for the beginning mage, but Robin had done it so many times throughout the course of his training that it was child’s play. Hopefully, that’d be enough the get the easily excitable boy all wide-eyed again.

It was. Once again, Ricken had that trademark sparkle in his eyes (it was actually pretty endearing, Robin had to admit). He laughed with delight. “You just keep on finding new ways to impress me, don’t you? Are you _sure_ you’re a beginner at this?”

It was only a teasing jest, but it still made Robin’s heart beat just a little faster. He laughed it off. “Yeah, last I checked.”

* * *

The rest of the day continued very similarly, with Ricken refusing to leave Robin alone for even a second as they practiced spell after spell after spell. The more magic he tried to “teach” him, the more painfully obvious it became that Robin know a lot more about magic than Ricken. Not to say that Ricken wasn’t knowledgeable and skilled in his own right, but Robin’s schooling and experience clearly exceeded his. It was starting to hurt his pride a little to have to pretend he didn’t already know literally everything he tried to teach him.

It wasn’t until mid-afternoon that he got another chance to try and escape, Ricken once again being pulled away for a brief moment for some work-related matter. They had already been training pretty far out in the woods, so he (foolishly) hoped that he’d be able to slip away without incident and _finally_ continue on his way to Themes. Unfortunately, he neglected to take into account the fact that he had no idea where he was, and if he wanted to reorient himself he would need to go into town and use his map from there. Even _more_ unfortunately, with how much Ricken had been dragging him around out in these woods, he had no idea how to get back to town.

He sighed heavily. Well, that was just great. He supposed he had no choice then but to just pick a direction and walk (much like the beginning of this whole arduous journey, he recalled), so that was what he did.

He almost thought he was home free when Ricken hadn’t showed up after a substantial amount of time, causing a little glimmer of hope to rise up in his chest. He should have known better, though, as it was immediately crushed when he finally broke out of the tree line only to find a _ginormous_ lake completely blocking his path. Gods, it might as well have been a small ocean, stretching far beyond the horizon. There was absolutely _no way_ he’d be able to go around it. Shit, but he _really_ didn’t want to backtrack and get lost again, Ricken undoubtedly finding him along the way. He raked his hands through his hair in frustration. _Shit._

He weighed his options, and as stupid as it sounded, he decided that the only viable one was to swim across. It was moronic, but he was starting to get desperate—if he stayed here one more day he was _certain_ he’d be found out by somebody (honestly, it was a miracle that no one had already, he doubted there weren’t any of those wanted posters in such a populated town). To him, it really didn’t seem like he had a choice. He could periodically freeze patches of the water, he supposed, when he needed a little rest. Not the most efficient plan in the world, but it was what he had. At least he didn’t have to worry about his coat getting wet, what with it being tucked away in his charmed bag and not on his body.

Right as he was about to dive headfirst into the lake, a call of “Deryn?” make him jump nearly three feet in the air. He swiveled around to find Ricken standing there right behind him, confusion on his face. “What are you doing all the way out here?”

Fuck, did the guy have a fucking _tracking device_ on him or something?!?!? Nevermind, he had to come up with an excuse and quick. “O-oh, I was just, uh… about to practice some ice magic…! It took me a little while to find a body of water, sorry if I worried you, haha.”

Instead of alleviating his confusion, however, Robin’s words only served to make the crease between Ricken’s brows deeper. “Ice magic? I’m sorry, I know you’re talented, but I just don’t think a beginner can tackle ice magic—it’s one of the most difficult elemental magics out there. Heck, even _I_ can’t do much with it yet! I think it’d be best to stick with something simpler until you get more experience.”

Robin felt an uncharacteristic swell of indignant pride in his chest. Of _course_ he could do ice magic! He had been one of the best damn mages at the Valmeesean Academy of Spellcraft and Warfare—top of his class! He knew in his mind that this was all for show, that he needed to play a part, but having to pretend that he didn’t have over _two decades_ of experience under his belt was weighing on him. Robin was by no means a man of fragile ego, but his pride was wounded, and just this once, he couldn’t help but show off a bit.

“Come on, just give me a chance?” he asked. “If I can’t do it then we’ll forget about it and move on, but I’d really like to try.”

A conflicted look crossed Ricken’s face before he sighed. “Oh alright then, suit yourself. But I’m warning you, it’s _extremely_ difficult. And I can’t help you much, considering I don’t know a lot about it.”

Robin nodded. “Of course.” He turned to the lake, rubbing his hands together as he gazed out at the silver-gray expanse of the water. He took a deep breath, clearing his mind. Ricken had not been wrong when he said that ice magic was incredibly difficult, requiring intense amounts of focus and control. He drew a precise sigil with his fingers, causing a numbing cold to jump to his hands. He focused, keeping the cold there as he bent over and traced another sigil in the water. And with a loud puff of air he slammed his freezing cold hands down onto the surface of the water, it immediately freezing solid.

He heard Ricken gasp, and when he lifted his head up, he almost did the same. Shit, he’d just wanted to show off a _little,_ but it looked like the magical blast had ben much stronger than intended. He’d only wanted to freeze a small patch of the water, but as he looked out at the lake, now completely frozen over with little shards of ice hanging in the air above it, he realized that did not happen.

In all honesty, he probably hadn’t frozen the _entire_ lake, but at least the portion they could see was completely covered in frost.

Robin straightened up and dusted off his hands on his pants. He turned to gauge Ricken’s reaction, finding him wide-eyed in disbelief, his jaw hanging open like a gasping fish. “I-I—you— ** _how?????”_**

_‘Shit,’_ Robin thought. _‘I may have overdone it this time.’_

* * *

Robin was _really_ starting to regret his decision to show off by dinner time. Ricken just _would not_ shut up about it. Naturally, he’d soaked up the praise for a little while, but the logical part of his brain was berating him. Ricken seemed pretty naïve, but he was _not_ stupid. There was no way a beginner would have _ever_ been able to pull that off—he had no doubt that once Ricken sat down and thought about it, he’d figure him out, meaning he needed to leave _tonight,_ no matter what interruptions he might face.

“That was just absolutely _amazing,_ Deryn!” Ricken continued to gush. “I’ve never seen anything like it before, not even with the older mages! You have a real gift!”

Robin forced a light chuckle. “You’re far too kind, I really had no idea what I was doing, though.”

“And that’s what makes it even _more_ impressive!” He sighed. “Gods, I wish my teacher were still around, he would have _loved_ to train you. He’d certainly be able to teach you more than I.”

Robin raised an eyebrow, asking between bites, “Your teacher? I’m terribly sorry for your loss.” Now he felt kind of like an ass for cursing him so vehemently earlier that day if he was dead.

Ricken’s eyes widened in realization. “Oh no no no, he’s not dead!” He shook his head definitively, crossing his arms in a way that made him look very much like a child. “No, _definitely_ not dead.”

That only confused Robin more. “Oh. Then… where is he?”

Ricken deflated a little, his expression turning sheepish as he stared down at is plate. “Oh, well, you see…… He’s missing.”

“Missing?”

“Well, yes. I, uh… don’t know where he is. Nor does anyone, really.” He quickly perked up, determination in his eyes. “But we’ll find him! I know we will! Lady Maribelle has practically the whole continent looking for him!”

Duchess Maribelle? The whole continent? No… it couldn’t be—

The cabin door slammed open, startling him out of his thoughts. “Papa, what are you doing?! Your new apprentice has been waiting for you at the training ground for hours! He’s about ready to up and leave! And when was the last time you checked your mail? There’s a very important letter from Mirel that I found sitting unopened on your desk for at least three days!” Her dark eyes flicked to Robin, widening in what could only be recognition as her rant trailed off into stunned silence.

What frightened Robin more than her recognition was her ears, her _ears._ Manakete. There was no way those weren’t manakete ears. Terror gripped him. No _fucking_ way he was going through _that_ shit again.

He leapt from his seat, his heart pounding in his chest. Fuck, she was blocking the door— _the window **the window.**_ He ran and crashed through the window, running like his life depended on it through the woods (which it likely did), broken glass crunching under his feet. _‘Fuck that shit.’_

* * *

Ricken sat at his desk later that evening, rubbing his temples. Gods he was exhausted. The stacks of paperwork only got taller and taller as the days went by, no matter how much he worked. He wasn’t able to lament his increasing workload, however, as he was too busy kicking himself. How had he not _noticed???_

He’d just read Mirel’s missive, the one confirming Robin’s reappearance and the fact that he was now going by an alias— _Deryn._ Gods, he felt like such a moron. But he’d been so tired and overworked lately, and sure, when he first saw that white-haired man with a thoron time one of his first thoughts was of Robin, but of _course_ he dismissed the idea. He’d been missing for over two and a half years, why in the gods’ names would he just randomly show up at _his_ estate of all places??? And his hair was far longer and tangled, he had no coat, he was wearing a _mask_ for the gods’ sakes, he couldn’t even properly see his face!

He felt like suck a fool, and now Robin has slipped through their fingers once again because of that foolishness. He’d failed everybody—himself, Nowi, Nah, Lissa, Maribelle—but most importantly, he’d failed Chrom. And that was something he promised himself he’d never do.


	18. Inexorable Discovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all enjoy this chapter! Let me know what you think in the comments!

Maribelle was about ready to snap, not that she would accept any sympathy for that fact. She was a woman with a mission, and she’d be damned if she didn’t see it through to the best of her ability, even if that meant she was perpetually seconds away from losing it due to all the stress and frustration. Mirel’s missive be damned, she didn’t have the _time_ to be cautious in her recovery efforts, not when the full force of the search was bearing down on Themes—not to mention she still had to deal with those _infuriating_ lesser nobles breathing down her neck, especially that vile lecher Lord Abedear. She was a married woman for the gods’ sakes—heaven knew he had enough on her plate without that uncouth brute harassing her with all his revolting advances. It put a bad taste in her mouth to admit that the man was indeed a _noble,_ for he certainly behaved more like a street-born cretin, the lusty scoundrel.

She sighed heavily as she overlooked the city from the window in her study, her features etched into a deep frown. This whole business was becoming quite troublesome—any more sighing and frowning and she feared she may prematurely wrinkle. She simply couldn’t believe Mirel would propose that they “wait it out,” so to speak, and let Robin come to them. The idea was utterly preposterous to her, especially when they had so little evidence to support her theory. She could believe that Robin had regained his memories from before the war—that claim was backed up by Cherche and Libra, and even Virion had confirmed that Ghenna was in fact a real location off the coast of Valm. Maribelle recalled how he kicked himself over it when news of Cherche and Libra’s meeting with him reached them in Ferox after the Kahn’s Tournament.

“What folly!” he had cried in dismay. “To think that I, Grand Duke of Rosanne, didn’t even _consider_ to fleeting possibility that out dear tactician may have been Ghennen! With those sharp, stern features and snow-white hair—why, such traits are as common to Ghenna as brunettes are to Chon’sin!”

However despite the validity of _that_ claim, the other one—that Robin had lost all his memories of the war—seemed dubious to Maribelle. How could they possibly know? Of course, he had been _quite_ aggressive with the Shepherds he’d met (poor Kellam and Gerome were testaments to that), but that hardly seemed like enough proof to make such an outlandish claim. Mirel herself admitted that it was mostly speculation, that the only way they’d be able to know for sure would be to sit him down and interview him which they _couldn’t._ And even if her theory was correct, that was all the more reason to bring him home as soon as possible and treat him for his malady lest he injure himself in his confusion (though, as the other Shepherds had pointed out to her, apparently the bigger concern was him potentially hurting one of _them)._

She sighed yet again. Undoubtedly, the hardest part of this whole debacle was keeping it a secret from Brady—she hated to keep him out of the loop, but he looked up to Robin so much… she couldn’t bare to watch the disappointment on his face if news came about that it was actually yet _another_ false alarm, although she highly doubted it. Yes, it was all for the best that he didn’t know, not until she could grab Robin by the hood of that tattered coat and drag him to Brady to see him in person. If she could ever _find_ that damned acting troupe he, Owain, and Inigo were running now, off galivanting through the countryside in gods-knew where.

The thought of her son and his friends brought yet another one of her many troubles to the forefront of her mind, the future children. Or rather, their lack of cooperation with her search efforts. Lucina, Cynthia, and Laurent were all far too busy with their own duties to come down to Themes to aid her, so she held no fault against them, but nobody else was off the hook. The acting troupe was awol, Kjelle and Severa were off running that brutish mercenary band they’d started who-knew where, Morgan had snatched up Noire from Plegia and disappeared a few days ago, and everyone else was far too spooked by Gerome’s injuries to take any decisive action. Maribelle practically seethed. At least Gerome had _tried,_ none of the others seemed even remotely interested in lending any aid. Though, honestly, she couldn’t blame them all too much. From what she’d heard from Cherche, Gerome could have died, and had she and Minerva not gone looking for him he very well may have from hypothermia. To Maribelle’s knowledge, he was still bedridden with multiple broken bones and damaged tendons. Not to mention that Kellam had only been released from bedrest a few weeks ago from the injuries he sustained during his altercation with Robin. She hated to admit it and it didn’t change her thoughts that they were being cowardly, but she understood their reservations. Many of the original Shepherds had the same ones.

Mirel had mentioned to her privately that perhaps Robin’s aggression and skittishness were partially stemmed from her insistence on putting up wanted posters instead of missing person ones, causing him to believe that he was a criminal of sorts. While that was not an unreasonable theory if the rest of Mirel’s claim held true, Maribelle couldn’t deny that wanted posters garnered far more attention than missing person notices. If they were going to find Robin, they needed to put in every possible ounce of effort they could, consequences be damned.

And that was exactly what Maribelle was going to do.

* * *

Robin used to think that the trope of the criminal sneaking into town underneath a carriage to be tacky, unrealistic, and something that only happened in poorly written heist novels. However, as he did just that to get into Themes, it suddenly seemed a whole lot less laughable, He waited with bated breath for the carriage to come to a full stop and the passengers to leave, his arms starting to burn from hanging onto the bottom framework for so long. All sorts of dirt and muck had been kicked up onto him from the ground throughout the journey, leaving him feeling quite miserable. He was beginning to regret his decision, but with how vehemently the Duchess seemed to hate him, he figured that the discomfort was worth it for the extra bit of protection it offered.

He dared not move until he heard the passengers’ footsteps fade away into the distance. Once he was sure they were gone, he slipped out from under the carriage and made a feeble attempt to brush himself off a little before he reached into his bag and pulled out his coat, shrugging it on. He was immensely glad that its charms were in working order again—being without it made him feel almost naked. And with that, he carefully slipped out of the stables to begin his exploration of Themes.

Perhaps he had been a little too paranoid with his entrance, he thought as he glanced around the bustling city. It wasn’t as if they had guards waiting at the gates to stop people and search for him. Yes, the longer he thought about it, the sillier the idea seemed and the more foolish he felt. What did he think was going to happen if he just walked in like a normal person? That a knight was going to waltz right up to him immediately and say—

“Excuse me sir. I’m terribly sorry to bother you but have you seen this man?”

Robin nearly jumped out of his skin as he whipped around. Before him stood a genial-looking man clad in green armor holding up a— _shit, **one of his wanted posters!!!!**_ Oh gods, Robin swore he could’ve dropped dead in a terrified faint right there, all the blood draining from his face and leaving it sheet white.

The guard frowned, his head tilting slightly to the side in concern. “Oh, I’m sorry for startling you. I suppose I was quieter than I thought.” He let out a soft chuckle. “Anyways, it’s fine if you haven’t, it’s just standard procedure to ask all incoming travelers about it—Duchess’ orders, you know?” he tucked the poster away into his pocket, making it a little easier for Robin to breathe.

It took him a couple of seconds to calm down enough to form a coherent sentence. He cleared his throat to gather his composure. “H-how did you know I just got here…?”

“Oh, sorry, I just saw you coming out of the public stables, so I just kind of assumed.” He gave him an easy smile, one that, against all his willpower, managed to put Robin at ease. “Anyway, since you’re new in town, how would you like a bit of a tour? I’m pretty free right now, and I know Themes can be confusing to get around, so I’d be happy to show you around if you want.”

Robin contemplated the offer. On one hand, he was a guard, but on the other hand, he was a very _friendly_ guard who didn’t recognize him—perhaps he’d be able to get some information about the Duke and the tactician out of him. In any case, it didn’t seem like he had any plans to arrest him, so he smiled and accepted. “Sure, if you don’t mind. That sounds great.”

The guard grinned at him. “Great! There’s a lot of interesting sights to see here in town. Oh, I’m Stahl, by the way. And you are?”

 _‘Shit.’_ He couldn’t keep going by Deryn there was no way Ricken wouldn’t have told people in the area about that alias. Unfortunately, he hadn’t had the time to think up a new name. _‘Shit shit shit shit he’s staring at me think of something quick!’_ “I’m, uhhhh…… Finch…!”

Stahl raised an eyebrow “Finch?”

Ooohh, even Robin wanted to cringe at that one. Not his finest moment. But now he had to stick with it. He cleared his throat. “Y-yes, Finch. It’s a, uh… quite common name where I’m from.”

Stahl gave him a strange look for a moment. Then he shrugged. “Okay then. Nice to meet you, Finch. What would you like to see first?”

* * *

Stahl’s heart had been _pounding_ as he approached Robin, terrified that at any moment he would recognize him as a member of the Shepherds and either nearly kill him or make a break for it. But he couldn’t just… _leave_ him, pretend like he didn’t see anyth[ ing. He and Panne had seen Mirel’s missive not that long ago, and while Panne thought the whole idea of using caution was ridiculous (she believed there would be much less hassle if she just hunted him down and carried him back to Ylisstol), Stahl couldn’t help but agree with Mirel’s approach. So when he saw an opportunity to approach him non-threateningly, he took it.

A part of him hoped that hearing his name would help trigger some memories, but predictably, it didn’t—Robin clearly had no idea who he was, and as much as that pained him, he realized he could use that to his advantage. Robin was obviously _very_ spooked by the fact that he was a guard (as evident by that sad excuse for an alias he’d obviously just come up with on the spot), so his first order of business was to get him to trust him. But how was he going to do that? Robin had never been the most trusting guy, not even back during the war, and there was no doubt his paranoia had increased after being on the run for who-knew how long.

“So, Stahl,” Robin said as they walked, bringing him out of his thoughts. “How long have you been stationed in Themes? You don’t seem very much like a big city kind of guy.”

Stahl chuckled, hoping his nervousness didn’t show. “Me? Oh no, I’m just a small-town guard—left my village when I was a kid to become a knight. I’m usually stationed in Ylisstol, but the Duchess called down a bunch of extra troops a couple months ago to help with some security concerns.”

Robin’s interest seemed piqued. “Ylisstol? That’s quite the honor for a Ylissean knight, I hear. You wouldn’t happen to have ever worked with that famed tactician then, would you?”

Wow, hearing Robin talk about himself while having _no idea_ that he was talking about himself was _really_ jarring. Even still, Stahl tried to keep it cool. “The tactician? Oh yeah, of course. We fought in the war together.”

Robin visibly stiffened, his face going pale. His voice sounded strained as he croaked, “Th-the war? Like, with the Shepherds…?”

Shit! Stahl realized his blunder too late. Never did he imagine he might have to _outwit_ Robin, of all people. Curse his unguarded nature! He had to think of something, fast! “Who, oh, me? No, no, no, I’m not a Shepherd myself, it was just that, uh, they were the elite vanguard, you know? So everybody sort of fought with them at some point, even the small-time soldiers like me.”

Robin relaxed at that, and Stahl could have sighed in relief. “Ah. I see.”

 _‘Whew. Dodged an arrow there.’_ But wait. As much as he hated it, his little blunder gave him an idea. “Yeah, there’s no way those pompous snobs would ever let somebody like _me_ in,” he said, the words practically burning his tongue as they left his mouth.

“Snobs?”

Stahl swallowed, mentally asking the gods and all of his friends for forgiveness for what he was about to say. “Oh yeah. We all fought with the Shepherds, but nobody really fought _with_ the Shepherds, you know what I mean?”

Robin raised a curious eyebrow. “Really? What is it exactly you don’t like about them? Here I thought everybody in Ylisse idolized them.”

“Well, that’s because most people don’t really _know_ them,” Stahl said. “What a bunch of buffoons. Take their leader for example, Exalt Chrom. I don’t think I’ve ever met such an impulsive, dimwitted man in my life! It’s a miracle he hasn’t run the country into the ground yet. Back during my soldier days, I once saw him try to eat an orange _with_ the peel!”

Now both of Robin’s eyebrows were raised. “You don’t say?”

Oh gods Stahl wanted to cut out his tongue. But what better way could there possibly be to gain Robin’s trust than by badmouthing the friends he now seemed so aggressive towards? So he went on. “And that retainer of his, Sir Frederick.” He scoffed for good measure. “Where do I even start. The man’s a mechanical lap dog, always ‘milord’ this and ‘milord’ that. It’s hard to believe he even has a will of his own—more like a golem than a man. Only ever smiled when he was bringing down the axe.”

Robin shivered a little at that. “Sounds… disconcerting.”

“Oh, it was. The only one of the lot that I can think of that was _worse_ was that little Princess, the Exalt’s younger sister.” Oh, this one particularly stung. He _loved_ Lissa—practically saw her as his _own_ sister! She was so fun and sweet, always bringing a smile to people’s faces. But he’d already dug himself into this hole, and he needed to finish what he started. So he resisted the urge to vomit as he continued, “What a spoiled little brat—it was like she wasn’t even aware we were at war! Always playing around and pulling pranks on people as though she didn’t have a care in the world. I swear, she was the single most irresponsible person I’d ever seen.”

He went on to continue badmouthing various prominent Shepherds, feeling his soul die a little more with each false word he said. He made a mental vow to apologize to all of his friends he’d slandered the next time he saw them. A part of him hoped that hearing somebody speak so poorly about his friends would cause some reaction in Robin’s memory, but as far as he could tell, there was nothing. His memories really were _completely_ gone. He’d even insulted his _wife_ to his face and he didn’t even flinch (though a tiny piece of him had hoped he _wouldn’t_ react to that in fear that he’d punch his teeth out).

After he’d finished his little soul-crushing speech, Robin said, “Wow, I suppose you didn’t have a very high opinion of the tactician then?”

Okay, Stahl could power through and say all those mean things about his friends despite how much it hurt him, but the one he _couldn’t_ do was badmouth _Robin,_ the Shepherds’ pride and joy, to his face. “Oh no, he was the only one of the lot I could stand. He actually cared about grunts like me. He was probably the only reason we won either war.”

Robin nodded, looking thoughtful. “I see.”

As Stahl continued his “tour,” he talked and talked and talked about anything and everything relating to the Shepherds or the war, desperately hoping that something, _anything,_ would trigger a memory. He mentioned things that may have piqued his interest, such as specific training regimes and Ylissean politics (Stahl didn’t know much about them, but Robin w _as_ Chrom’s head advisor after the Plegian War). He mentioned other Shepherds and various people they met during their marching, he mentioned crazy tactical moves Robin had come up with, he mentioned some of the more domestic stuff that they did such as mess duty and inventory collection—absolutely everything he could think of. He was afraid he might be talking his ear off a bit too much, that he was starting to annoy him, but he was so panicked and desperate to do _something_ he just couldn’t stop himself.

Stahl nearly breathed a sigh of relief as he was a familiar building come up on the side of the road, desperately needing a reprieve. “Hey, a buddy of mine owns this bar over here. He’s not in town right now, but would you like to grab a drink or two? We’ve been walking for a while, don’t you think?”

Robin thought about it for a second before nodding in agreement. “Sure, that sounds nice.”

Stahl was immensely grateful he hadn’t insulted Gregor as he approached his bar, otherwise he’d feel too guilty to go in (or Gaius for that matter, seeing as his sweet shop was right next to it, the long ling of customers denoting that he was in). Honestly, after all those painful conversations, he could use a drink. So he ordered them each a glass of something as soon as they sat down at the counter. He was surprised to see Robin accept it gratefully and take a few sips—last he checked Robin wasn’t much of a drinker. He felt a pang of sympathy for him, he must’ve been having a rough time. Stahl dearly wished that he could usher him off to Ylisstol right then and there so they could help him—find some kind of cure for his memory loss—but he knew he couldn’t. The situation was just too volatile, his behavior too unpredictable. Brute force had clearly proven to be ineffective, so his only option was to think of something else—hopefully mention something that would plant some kind of seed in Robin’s mind and lead to a memory.

“So,” Robin said after a few sips of his drink, “I take it you didn’t know much about this tactician? If you didn’t work directly together, I mean.”

Oh, how Stahl hated to lie. “Eh, I knew about as much about him as the next guy.”

“You wouldn’t happen to know where to find him, would you?”

Now _that_ gave him pause, nearly made him drop the act. Why would he be looking for himself? Well, of course, he didn’t _know_ it was himself, but even then, why was he looking? A spark of hope lit in his chest. Could it be that he was maybe on the verge of remembering his identity, causing him to unintentionally seek out information about himself? If that was the case, then maybe Stahl’s efforts to mention familiar things wouldn’t be in vain. Oh crap, he needed to answer he was looking at him expectantly. He cleared his throat a little, getting out of his head. “I’m afraid nobody knows that, sorry.” He saw Robin’s shoulders droop in disappointment, and he internally panicked. _‘Wait, no, say something **else,** this is your chance!’ _“B-but, if you’re looking for more information about him, you could, uh, always check out his roster…! I, uh, heard he kept detailed reports about all of the Shepherds in there, including himself. Maybe that’ll help you out?”

Robin’s eyes brightened with curiosity, and a little spark of triumph lit in Stahl’s chest. “A roster? Where is it?”

That spark fizzled out. Crap, he didn’t think this through properly. Truth was, he had almost no idea where it was, certainly not Robin’s personal entry. He was a trusted member of the Shepherd, but he was no high-up court official or intelligence agent, and the locations of most of Robin’s personal writings were highly classified, not to mention that they were heavily guarded. But he at least had a _general_ idea, and maybe general was enough to trigger something. “I’m, um… not totally sure, but it’d probably in some kind of record facility, right? Though it might not be in Ylisse—he did a lot of work with Plegia and Ferox, some of his stuff might be there too.” Please please _please_ let this do something, let the mention of his personal records trigger _something._ They all missed him so much. The Shepherds just weren’t the Shepherds without Robin, and Stahl thought he’d made them wait long enough to be complete again.

The little glint in Robin’s eye gave Stahl hope. “I see. I’ll keep that in mind.”

They sat and chatted for a bit longer before Stahl continued his pseudo-tour, continuing to ramble on about anything and everything he could think of that Robin might remember. As much as it pained him that Robin had absolutely no idea who he was, he couldn’t deny that seeing him again, talking to him again after so long… it was a joy. He’d missed him so much; he could only imagine how Chrom must have felt. A part of him felt guilty that it was _him_ who got to have this short time with Robin instead of his best friend, and that guilt only increased when the day drew to an end and he had to say goodbye to him. It went against practically every fiber of his being to let him go, but he knew that it was for the best. They couldn’t try to rush this—he’d come back to them when he was ready.


End file.
